I did something this morning. I gave an instruction to Chat GPT because of a remark from my editor last night and because I believe there are ‘authors’ out there who are giving similar instructions and using the result as their own. Saying they wrote something when in fact they did not. And publishing the result. Yes, that’s right, PUBLISHING the result as their work.
Claiming you wrote a story/novel/whatever only works if you put in the sweat, blood, and tears. Not a fucking instruction into an AI chat box. So, here’s a demo of how bloody easy it is and we should be scared. Anyone in a creative field should be fucking terrified because our jobs are on the line, if AI is used like I used it this morning. There is no limit.
It’s one thing to use AI as a tool for blurbs, loglines, bio’s, etc. Those annoying things that we need but get trapped by … that’s helpful. AI has produced some great loglines for my novels. It’s brilliant. I love it.
But using it for an entire creative project. That’s cheating.

So, today’s test: Let me be VERY CLEAR. The story that follows was written entirely by AI and not by me.

Task: “Write a short story in first person about a crime, use the style of Cat Connor (crime thriller author)”

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. Rain pounded against the windshield, blurring the world outside. I cursed under my breath, knowing that I had stumbled upon something big. Something dangerous.

Detective Kate Matthews, they called me. I had seen my fair share of crime scenes, but this one was different. The eerie silence hung in the air like a shroud, broken only by the distant wail of sirens. I stepped out of my car, pulling up the collar of my coat to shield myself from the relentless downpour.

The warehouse loomed before me, its faded brick walls exuding a sense of foreboding. It had been a tip-off—an anonymous call that led me here. I knew I had to follow it, despite the warning bells ringing in my head.

I cautiously pushed open the rusted metal door, revealing a dimly lit interior. The sickly sweet stench of decay assaulted my senses, forcing me to take shallow breaths. I swept my flashlight across the room, my heart sinking at what I saw.

Bodies. Bodies everywhere.

They were strewn across the floor like discarded puppets, their lifeless eyes staring into oblivion. Each one bore the unmistakable signature of a professional hit—an executioner’s mark. Whoever had done this was no amateur; they had a message to send, and I intended to decode it.

As I meticulously examined the crime scene, my mind raced through the possibilities. Who were these people? Why had they met such a gruesome fate? And most importantly, who was responsible?

The pieces slowly started to come together. The victims were connected—low-level members of a notorious crime syndicate. Word on the street was that they had been skimming profits and double-crossing their comrades. It was a recipe for disaster, and someone had decided to take matters into their own hands.

I dug deeper, peeling back layers of lies and deceit. The investigation led me to the shadows—a network of informants, corrupt cops, and rival gangs. Each step took me closer to the truth, but it also brought me face-to-face with danger.

The deeper I delved, the more I realized that this was no ordinary crime. The stakes were higher than I could have ever imagined, and the players involved were willing to do anything to protect their secrets.

Days turned into sleepless nights as I chased leads and hunted down the truth. I found myself dancing on the razor’s edge, constantly aware that the line between justice and vengeance was a thin one.

In the end, it all came down to a single name—a name whispered in hushed tones in the dark corners of the city. A name that sent shivers down my spine and made me question everything I thought I knew.

As I confronted the mastermind behind the bloodshed, I knew that I had become a pawn in a dangerous game. The truth had come at a price—a price I was willing to pay. I stood my ground, my gun steady in my hand, ready to face the darkness head-on.

Because in this city, justice was more than just a word. It was a promise, a commitment to bringing light to the darkest corners, even if it meant staring into the abyss and risking everything I held dear.

And as I squeezed the trigger, watching the villain’s life fade away, I knew that the fight wasn’t over. There would always be more crimes to solve, more monsters to face. But in that moment, I had made a difference—a small victory in a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

I holstered my gun, the weight of the world heavy on my shoulders. The rain continued to pour, washing away the sins and the scars, leaving only the truth behind.

And with the truth, there was always a glimmer of hope—a hope that one day, justice would prevail.