Lately I’ve been using ChatGPT (an artificial intelligence program) to research some technical issues for my new Thorn novel. (Almost finished.)
It’s very good at answering questions about coding and servers and matters having to do with programming. (At least I think it’s good because I know very little about all that stuff.)
Back in 1966 (yikes) when I was a college student, I had a friend in the dorm who was a computer genius (perfect SAT score at 16 years old–lived in his pajamas like Hugh Hefner.) I asked him once if the college’s computer (which took up an entire room the size of an average college classroom, but had less computing power than my Apple watch), if the computer could write poems. His answer (which I’ve blogged about before) was: If you can tell me what a poem is, I can get the computer to write a million of them.
Of course I couldn’t define a poem, so gave him only a rudimentary set of rules: I broke down a James Dickey poem into various parts of speech: verb, adjective, adverb, noun, article, pronoun, conjunction, interjection, and then gave my computer whiz a vocabulary from Anne Sexton’s poetry. The result was chaos. None of the lines the computer spewed out made much sense.
The only line I remember was “The wrinkled igloo rode its bicycle into the sunset.”
Not bad for a surreal poem, I guess.
Makes as much sense as a VW Beetle surrounded by sharks.
Anyway, in a lull in my writing and researching lately, I decided to see what progress had been made in the 57 years (double yikes) since the wrinkled igloo was riding its bike.
I asked ChatGPT to write romantic scene between Thorn and a woman, mimicking the style of James W. Hall.
All I can say about the following result is that, yes indeed, things have improved in the half century of computers writing fiction and poetry. But not much. I’m not worried about a computer taking my job just yet.
Here’s what AI came up with:
In the soft glow of the Florida moon, Thorn and the woman found themselves on the secluded beach, where the waves whispered secrets to the sand. The air was thick with the scent of salt and passion, as if the very atmosphere conspired to kindle the flames between them.
Thorn, with his weathered demeanor and piercing gaze, stood at the water’s edge. The moonlight played upon his rugged features, casting shadows that danced in harmony with the rolling tide. The woman, her eyes reflecting the infinite depth of the ocean, approached him with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability.
The distant sounds of the city were but a faint echo, drowned out by the symphony of the sea. Thorn, normally a man of few words, felt an unfamiliar warmth enveloping him. He turned to face the woman, and in that fleeting moment, time seemed to pause.
Their eyes met, a silent exchange of understanding that transcended words. Thorn extended a calloused hand, inviting her to join him in this dance with the night. Without a word, she placed her hand in his, the connection sparking a current that pulsed between them like a secret shared between kindred souls.
They walked along the shoreline, the sand beneath their feet yielding to the rhythm of their steps. The moon cast its silver sheen upon the water, illuminating the path ahead. Thorn stole a glance at the woman, her hair catching the moonlight like strands of spun silver.
As they reached a quiet alcove, Thorn paused, turning to face her. The woman’s eyes, a reflection of the starlit sky, held a mixture of longing and surrender. Thorn, a master of reading the untold stories etched on a person’s face, gently traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips.
A soft breeze whispered through the palms, as Thorn leaned in, closing the distance between them. The world fell away, leaving only the symphony of the sea and the beating of two hearts entwined. Their lips met in a lingering kiss, a union of souls beneath the canvas of the night.
In that timeless embrace, Thorn and the woman discovered a love that transcended the boundaries of the physical world. The moon bore witness to their silent vows, and the waves carried the echo of their whispered promises into the vast expanse of the ocean. It was a moment suspended in eternity, a chapter written in the language of the heart—a James W. Hall romance unfolding beneath the endless sky.
