At this point, I have no explanation for the see-saw embankment into incognito. I’ve been asked this question several times: Why did you stop blogging? I didn’t. You see, I always knew that I would come back and recount the existential crisis that sent the ball of my pen rolling away into the void. Here I am, in a stare-down with a blinking cursor, thinking, where do I start?
The past two years have been surreal, and there’s no way I can compact it all into a single blog entry. But we can start with the growth and lessons that have given me a different perspective on life. I was going through my past blogs, and oh my, am I not the queen of rants? It seems these random blowouts are the bane of my creativity, the indigo to my soul that prompts blue words on white paper. Today’s pathway of writing is led by the pure urge to write. Just the blissful and untainted need to write.
Firstly, I have a bone to pick with A.I. Damn you, A.I., for flooding the pool of writers with impostors and half-wit, monotone content. The work lacks the human essence and personality that make writers different and unique. It’s a shame that real writing is becoming a gem lost in the chaff. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the artificial intelligence apocalypse. Books are being written, an entire book? Join me in lamenting with the hardworking writers who labor over every word, furiously pounding away at the keyboard.
It’s truly deplorable. While we sweat over every sentence, agonise over plot twists, and wrestle with the perfect turn of phrase, others churn out content at lightning speed, devoid of heart and depth. The art of writing, once a labor of love, is being overshadowed by formulaic drivel. The passion, the sleepless nights, the relentless pursuit of the perfect narrative, what does it mean now? The craft we hold dear is slipping into the hands of mediocrity.
For real and authentic writers, it means standing at a crossroads. On one hand, we face a world increasingly saturated with quick, impersonal content, threatening to devalue the craft we’ve dedicated ourselves to. On the other hand, it becomes a call to rise above the noise, to double down on the authenticity, creativity, and emotional depth that only human writers can bring. It means that our work, more than ever, becomes a rare and precious commodity, something that resonates deeply in a sea of shallow imitations. It challenges us to stay true to our voice, knowing that real storytelling and genuine connection will always have value.
Did I just weave myself into another rant? Who knows maybe that is my style of writing. I will end this entry by saying that the war is on. Lets bring out our best work, we will not lose to artificial intelligence. You are going down A.I, *shakes fist*
