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We Will Not Be Replaced

There is much hysteria going around about AI. It's in my face every day both on mainstream media and the more specialized journals I subscribe to for my day job (which is a misnomer as I work at night, but that is another story for another time). Every time I glance at social media there's another dire prediction. I employ the coping skills that I learned during the last presidential administration: ignore, ignore, panic slightly. I am not terribly far from retiring from my chosen career, which will surely be replaced by AI (just as soon as the lawyers figure out who to sue for malpractice when AI renders an incorrect diagnosis), but I'm on the cusp of beginning another. I have the audacity to think I just might become a Writer (capitalization intentional) but all the AI frenzy eventually seeps in and makes me just the teensiest bit worried. So I set out to put my mind at ease. I signed up for an Open AI account and gave ChatGPT the following prompt which has been noodling around in my brain since the warmer weather has arrived:

You know what? I am going to chuckle about this all morning, from the sentence ending with a preposition to the shoehorned Faulkner quote and then go to bed, safe in the knowledge that I am capable of being creative, original, complex and layered, descriptive and subtle. I think us writers are safe. We will not be replaced.

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