Why Creative Professionals fear A.I

The old typewriter was ancient, dusty and jammed with paper. Its keys were worn and loose. But it still worked perfectly. It had changed hands countless times and left a trail of stories and memories behind each time it did. From data entry to storytelling to love letters. From those who used it to fight social injustice, codify laws, and inspire revolutions. To those who traded in their personal lives and creature comforts for its awesome, unlimited power.

Then one day, it belonged to no one. It had been gathering dust in an old warehouse for years until one day a writer named Maura decided she needed it to finish her novel. She tracked down the owner and persuaded him to sell her the machine - which he did for an outrageous price that made her gulp sharply. But Maura was determined to use this extremely rare piece of machinery as intended: To write great literature!

She spent weeks poring over every single key on the ancient clunker, crafting fantastical stories onto the lily-white canvas. Every click, clang, and rattle ended with a tinkle. The one you hear at the end of a page. She felt that feeling you can only get with a typewriter.

And every night after a day's labor, she would toss and turn in bed, unable and unwilling to let go of what seemed like unfinished business. She just couldn't stay still knowing all those beautiful words were floating inside her head waiting to be released. For once in her life, everything felt right. It was impossible to stop herself.

The typewriter became the old, familiar friend she could always count on when things got tough. It gave her back some of her lost power and independence; it was the only thing that made her feel in control, even when things were at their worst. She'd spend hours lost in thought – typing until her fingers ached and her eyesight blurred. Sometimes she couldn't see the keys in front of her anymore, but with each stroke, she felt as if she was taking back a tiny bit of ground from all those who had tried to tear away everything that mattered to her.

Every time she pressed a key, something new would happen on the page – a summoning appeared in all its tortured glory, love stories untold, mysteries finally solved. The words flowed easily from the worn keys onto the paper; and she felt an intense sense of liberation spring up inside her.

Then one day it just stopped.

The keys were difficult to push. Even when they worked properly, they produced ugly blurs on the paper. It would jam up whenever Maura tried to type something complicated. And often when she was deep into a sentence, it would make weird noises as if trying to tell her something. Even after she replaced the ribbon, put new sheets of paper in it, and cleaned every part possible there was still something holding back her words from hitting the paper.

The sadness in her eyes was palpable as she thought of the unfairness of life. She tried to hold back her tears, but it was no use--everything that seemed so important and beautiful just ended that day. She stared at the keys for a few seconds before finally touching them lightly with her fingertips. Trembling, she lingered there for a few more moments before turning away and walking out of the room without saying another word.

The old typewriter sat in the dark. Silent and alone in its final hours.

It's about control.

For anyone of us who is lucky to be in a creative profession, it can be hard to let go of the old way of doing things. We're used to thinking of ourselves as independent beings, in control of our own lives. But deep down we know this is only partly true.

Very rarely are we truly in control of everything; most of the time we're just reacting to events that unfold around us. This is especially true when it comes to creativity. There are times when we sit down at our desks and produce something brilliant, something that seems to come from nowhere. But these moments are rare and fleeting. The vast majority of our work is routine and mundane. A series of tasks designed to maintain control over a situation which, by its very nature, resists control.

When anyone presents the idea of artificial intelligence as an enhancement for the way we do things, it's easy to shrug them off.

The history of art and literature has shown us time and again that the creative process can't be reduced down to formulas or rules – it's an open-ended, spontaneous activity which depends on intuition, inspiration, serendipity. With A.I as co-creator we can now realize unlimited potential for creativity beyond what we could ever imagine.

If you're imaginative and resourceful, A.I can actually enhance your career. It could give you an edge over your peers, help you break into new markets, and make it easier for you to sell your work – whether you’re independent or part of a team. Of course, the choice is yours to be indifferent to the change that's happening – though ignoring it doesn't make it go away.

But I know. Sometimes all you need is just a fucking typewriter.

I get it.