In a world that’s increasingly shoving AI down our throats, I want to have a space where I can maintain the craft of writing. Writing from the heart, not by prompt.

Sure, I write for work and I journal regularly, but work demands that I use AI more and more for ideation, research, first drafts, editing, and more. If I don’t use it, I’ll be flagged and my performance impacted. In this economy, I’m not willing to die on that hill, even though I believe that AI is a stain on our society.

I’ve seen friends who use AI to summarize news articles lose their patience and reading comprehension. So what of writing?

If no one writes anymore, where will style and voice go?

My first love was writing. Even before I embarked on my career path – back when I thought I would enter medicine – I secretly dreamed of being a writer. I came alive in English classes and couldn’t get enough of being asked to come up with an idea and defend it with my own words.

The art of writing is dying with AI. The tinkering to get just the right word that conveys a specific feeling, to paint the right picture in a reader’s mind, is now seen as a waste of time.

This is my small, personal resistance to AI. I want to use this space for my goofy musings, my rare poetry, and random observations of the world and of myself.

This space is for me and only me. If you’re here, I’ve provided you the link, but I hope you know that I’m not here to impress or provoke anyone. I’m simply being me.