The art of writing in the day of AI

10 Apr 2025

Two days ago, I listened to a recording of a work meeting that I did not attend in person and was appalled when I heard my supervisor encourage the use of ChatGPT for the writing of students' portfolios in order to reduce language errors. According to her, ChatGPT is a good tool that we should learn to use to refine our writing and to straighten up our sentences. Now I knew where she was coming from—not everyone has the ability to write well, and the use of ChatGPT would reduce the workload of vetting spelling and grammar mistakes—but her suggestion still hit a raw nerve.¹

Because writing, to me, is not just words on a paper. Writing is intent. It is careful consideration. It is heart.

Writing is getting lost in my thoughts on my commute, occasionally losing my way when I miss a stop or head in the wrong direction. It is frowning in deep thought as I search for just the right words to describe what is on my heart and mind. It is walking to the bus stop on my way to work, repeating aloud "The art of writing in the day of AI" and "The art of writing in the age of AI" in my quest to determine which of the two sounds better.

Writing is searching up the dictionary and thesaurus for words and looking up grammar and punctuation rules. It is scrolling through a haphazard draft, uncertain if it will see the light of day. It is staring at a blank screen with my fingers poised over the keyboard as the text cursor blinks in anticipation, then disappointment, when the words don't flow, and I leave the writing for another day.

Writing is editing until my eyes feel strained and my brain calls it quits. It is publishing a post that's 95% complete because I'm impatient to get it out but am so done with editing. And then it is revisiting entries past, still trying to improve the flow, sound, grammar, punctuation, what have you, again and again.²

Writing is reading old entries and discovering a past me—sometimes forgotten, at times unfamiliar, yet always raw and real—woven into the words that had resonated with me at one point in my life.

Writing is hours of work that spans across days, maybe weeks—it is a labour of love.

Writing, to me, is a sacred art.

When I told the story of my supervisor recommending ChatGPT to my husband, he had to correct me several times because I was calling it ChatGTP instead, which just goes to show how far removed I am from AI despite its pervasiveness today. Just recently a family member sent a Ghibli-fied family photograph. When it was shown to me, I had glanced for a moment and then looked away. I have great fondness for all things Studio Ghibli, but this was not it. "I'm surprised that your sister would do something like this," I had remarked. I had read the headlines on the AI model with dismay. It's just sad—sad that something like this exists and that there is a market for it, sad that people will flock to cheap knockoffs and soulless imitations in place of the genuine.

Instant art at the tip of your fingers, essays that you can produce at the drop of a hat. It just feels—sacrilegious.

And I think what I took offence at in my supervisor's words was how AI was her quick fix to the problem and the only solution she had to offer. She said nothing about writing being a good skill to have and gave no encouragement for us to seek to develop this skill. And now that she has sung her praises about AI, I wonder how much of her words are truly hers.

Two days ago, by some miracle, my blog reached its one-year mark. I'd never have thought as I sat in my living room in a country far from home typing away at my first post that I'd still be here—one year, forty-four entries and twenty-five thousand words later. It's a real encouragement to the always-failing-to-stick-with-something and almost-never-finishing-anything me that I have found something that I enjoy doing and feel compelled to keep at. It's been a joy to discover the art of writing once again, and I'm glad that I can say this of my work here—

My thoughts are my own. My words are my own. Just the way I like it.