I will never forget how much my AP history teacher mocked President Harding for coining the term "normalcy," but it is a term I find very useful in recent years. Through overseas moves, babies, and a pandemic, I've had multiple moments when I've sighed a breath of relief and thought that now, finally, we were returning to normalcy. Yet each time, some new upheaval comes along to derail that progress. The most recent was quite possibly the most traumatising, when my youngest was hit by a car while riding his scooter last May. We were unbelievably lucky he only broke and dislocated his hip, having been dragged beneath the car for 10 meter before the driver stopped. I still quaver at the notion of what this would have meant had he not been wearing a helmet (which was completely crushed on one side). Yesterday he returned to school, happy, smiling, and walking. I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude that maybe, finally, we are returning to normalcy.
But the truth is, I'm not even sure what normal looks like anymore. I don't think it will ever be as it was when I first started fixating on the notion. On top of that, I'm totally on edge, waiting for the next disaster to strike. Shootings and murders in my home country continue to circle closer and closer to home. No longer do these events just happen in towns and areas that I know, but also to people associated with my friends and family. How long until one of those loved ones is in the wrong place at the wrong time? There have already been too many close calls. Too much trauma.
OK brain! Reel it in! Right here, right now, I have something like a once normal morning on my hands. I am alone in my apartment. My computer is before me, and for the first time in months, I actually feel compelled to be writing. Honestly, a few months ago (pre-accident), I was ready to abandon this entire part of my life. It's so hard trying to find any consistent writing time, so why do I keep torturing myself like this? Why does any writer? Why not? So here I am.
And I have an idea, one totally removed from anything I could ever even begin to rationalize as normal. Late last year, as generative AI became a reality, I think I went into a bit of a state of mourning, lamenting what this meant for my industry. I never really feared AI - it's part of my husband's career - but how this might impact writers and editors of Austenesque, particularly, was demoralizing. Already, the market is flooded. It seems almost every new reader is a perspective writer. The only thing holding many back is that writing a book is actually a pretty hard thing to do. What if it's easy? Do I still have anything novel to offer my readers?
Therefore I am conducting an experiment. I have a story I have been working on for years, but I've written myself into a hole. Could AI help me out? Could I maybe, more than a decade after beginning, finally finish A Mixed-Up Mashup? Let's find out. You can click on the link to read all about:
Thoughts?
I went with Bard because I feel much better about Google than Microsoft, and I think I'm going to keep on playing with this, sharing the experience here. My first impression is that Bard might be able to write a book, but I'm not sure it would be one anyone would actually enjoy reading. I had been posting this story on A Happy Assembly. If I make progress, I'll continue it there.
A blog post! Once upon a time, this was what normalcy looked like.
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