Back in the “old days” of the aughts, when I started my own website and started writing in 2008—after deciding I wanted to write beyond the work I was doing for local Maine publications—the site was referred to as a blog and the writing was referred to as blogging. In hindsight, the “blogging” that many of us were doing at that time was the first widespread attempt to devalue the actual labor that was done.
See, blogging is writing and to blog is to be a writer. Back then, writers, whether they blogged or wrote, were doing their own labor. In the heyday of mom bloggers, which is how I launched Black Girl in Maine, thousands of women weekly wrote prolific tomes. None of this 200- to 300-word shit that has become the norm; most of us were writing full-sized 2,000- to 3,000-word essays that hundreds of thousands clamored to read regularly.
The most successful bloggers of that era reached the six-figure earning and beyond level thanks to advertising and brand deals. Some, like me, despite becoming known as a top mommy blogger (thanks to networks like Babble which dissolved in 2018) never went the commercial route. For me it was about retaining my creative freedom and being able to write what I wanted to write. Though, for several years in a row, I was honored to be considered among the top 100 mom bloggers of that time (never cracking above 75 on the top 100, though). But let’s be real: The fact that a Black woman in Maine writing about raising Black kids in a white state appeared multiple years on a list that brought women like Jenny Lawson (aka the Bloggess) and Pioneer Woman to the masses was still a feather in my cap.
Privately, many of us knew that the choice to refer to us as bloggers rather than writers was still a choice—and a way of subtly denigrating of our efforts—but folks were getting paid, book deals were being made, and for many women the networking was splendid with blogger conferences and jet-setting. Why quibble over whether we were real writers or not; the world was treating us as real writers.
In hindsight, not pushing back on that distinction paved the road for the widespread devaluation of labor such as writing and creative efforts which, paired with today’s world of AI takeover, isn’t good for any of us.
It is no secret that in recent years, writing has been reduced to what is now known as content, and with the widespread and rapid acceptance of artificial intelligence (AI), well, writers are increasingly seen as relics to be replaced by AI. We have seen it with print publications slashing their workforce and openly announcing that they will use AI in place of writers. As a result, writers—known or unknown—now clamor in marketplaces such as Substack to build a following that enjoys their work enough to commit to a $5 monthly payment or $50 or $100 for a year, with most consumers just choosing to consume all the content they want while paying nary a dime. For many, it is a matter of too much content and not enough money to pay for it, but what does this really mean for the folks who are doing the labor to create that content? In short, it means you are shit out of luck, as my folks used to say.
As a writer who has used the self-funded model for years, before it was widespread, watching this model become the norm has been devastating. The only way that it is still sustainable for me is because I have been doing it for so long and, thanks to my day job, I have built a loyal readership. But growth? Nah, that has stalled.
Even joining Substack over a year ago proved to be a bust as I simply cannot churn out enough content daily to give readers the value they feel they should pay for. As a result, I publish most of my work on my own site and Patreon and, thanks to social media where I still have a large following, I get to call my own shots and definitely earn more than the Substack model, which is really just a writing plantation.
However, this piece isn’t really about my stagnant support. It is about how “content creation” is hurting all of us. How a steady stream of content in an era of AI reduces the value of what you consume. While it provides the illusion of choice and feels like an all-you-can-eat buffet, is it really nourishing you? Or society?
This week, a summer reading list appeared in a few national newspapers including my hometown Chicago Sun-Times, as well as the Philadelphia Inquirer. For avid readers, historically these lists have been a great way to plan one’s summer reading. Typically book editors at publications receive press releases and complimentary copies (even I occasionally receive complimentary books and press releases), so they can read the books and, well, write about the ones they think are good enough to recommend.
In the era of AI, there are fewer book editors and people to actually read these books and make recommendations. This work is now outsourced to a syndicate that will do it, except that isn’t what happened. Newspapers such as the Chicago Sun-Times licensed content provided by King Features, a unit of the publisher Hearst Newspapers. A place where someone was supposed to do this work. But what happened was that AI was used to create the list of book recommendations, some by known authors, except…
…that 10 of the 15 books on the summer reading list don’t exist. The person who was supposed to read those books and write about them, Mario Buscaglia, admits that he used AI to create the list and, well, he didn’t check what the AI created. Buscaglia said, when confronted about this list of nonexistent books, “Huge mistake on my part and has nothing to do with the Sun-Times. They trust that the content they purchase is accurate and I betrayed that trust. It’s on me 100 percent.”
You are damn skippy that they trust that the content they purchase is accurate. I don’t know, but as a reader and writer who absolutely looks at these lists for my own book habit, there is something irksome in a day and age when writing gigs that pay money are so hard to find that a writer would so nonchalantly cheat. At least if he was going to cheat, make sure the cheat would pass muster.
The implications of this behavior are huge. Libraries are being defunded, writers who have integrity and earn enough to live are harder to find, and the masses are reliant on people who think they can save time and energy in creating content by using AI.
The crazy thing is that for most people who are neither big readers or writers, they probably don’t even see this as a big deal. Just a hitch in the technology.
I mean, we are inundated with content to such a degree that despite the nonstop stream of content being thrown at us, do we even know how much of it is real? I will say that in an era where sensationalism grabs attention and attention means cash, my experience is that most content, even by larger content creators, still requires a little digging to get the full truth. But when speed is the name of the game, relying on the most sensational talking points is what we get. It’s why most people have no idea that many of the courts are not backing Trump’s shit; it takes a bit more digging to get that.
Content is like an appetizer and breadbasket at your dinner. It titillates and tempts but it rarely can be as fulfilling and lasting as a full meal. But when we never feel we have enough time, we grab meals on the go instead of carving out time to truly nourish ourselves.
As a reader, I want to read what is nourishing and lasting, I want to read things that will sit with me long beyond the time I have put down the article or book. As a result, I am a writer who writes long form. As my readership has grown this year, I have been told my pieces are too long. Yep, they are but then again, are they really? I typically write between 1,700 and 3,000 words, a length that until recently was a pretty standard length for an article or essay.
Don’t get me wrong, there is a place for the current brand of “content,” but it should never replace the fullness of pieces that allow for depth, exploration, and absorption. Quickly churned out content might feed the mood of the moment when we think we never have enough time, but sometimes we must create the time to nourish ourselves. Furthermore, we should not allow the wholesale societal devaluation of humanity (which includes writers and artists), and we should never think that some technology we created for speed and efficiency can ever replace the beauty of the human mind and condition.
Content and AI, no matter what spin they put on it, will always be a pale imitation of the real thing, because it will always lack the complexity that is part of human experiences. The complexity that allows us to hold multiple and sometimes contradictory truths is also worthy of our scrutiny at a time when the oligarchs want us to lean into these shortcuts and hacks. Who benefits when we give up our curiosity and accept what the machine tells us? Who benefits from our time deficit?
While many are leaning into this moment of AI and embracing it as inevitable, I am heartened to see many pushing back. It reminds me that all is not lost. As I have taken to saying, read real books and think while it is still possible.
The current political landscape in the United States is a cautionary tale of what happens when we accept soundbites and content as complete reality, especially when guided by human bias. Moreso in a climate when what we see on screens can no longer be trusted as real, thanks to the advancement of AI and deepfakes. Never lose the spirit of curiosity; I feel we will need it more than ever moving forward.
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