You've maybe heard about how AI can mess up the writing process.
In the farming community where I live, AI means Artificial Insemination.
Today I sit down to edit a first draft which yesterday I dictated into Notes and then pasted unread into Pages.
I’ll never know what I actually said. There's no undo here. No Command Z to take a step backwards.
30 years ago I drunkenly composed a late night note on a scrawny rumpled shred of paper.
“Man In Yellow Jumper!!!” it screamed, underlined five times, just in case I might miss my own madness.
Waking in the morning I'd no idea what the hell it was about.
‘Make your notes comprehensible.’ I advise my students.
Never mind the students. I should try listening to myself.
Now I’ve got Yellow Sweater 2.0.
For those lucky winners who know me: yes, I’m aware of my relationship with cheese. It’s deep and sensual, but never the slightest bit sexual.
“You roared at me and I started touching cheese.”
That’s what appeared on the page on my screen.
Is this pure chance, or has my Siri built an AI probability quotient about possible volumes of my life which might include cheese?
What did I really say/write yesterday? I’ll never know, but I do know it wasn’t that.
Makes me laugh though.
©Charlie Adley
29.12.2025
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