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It seems like every time I turn around, an AI “book,” “artwork,” ad, cover, thread, or review gets shoved in my face. I don’t want it. I never welcomed it into my life, yet I can’t escape it. It’s like being allergic to something and having it surrounding you 24/7. A horror movie where the toxic ooze has surrounded your house and you can’t get out. When did this become the new norm? When did we hand over what makes us human to a machine? In case you didn’t notice, I am very a

I field the question, “How long have you been writing?” thinking of how often I’ve been asked this question. Ten, twenty, thirty times? It’s a valid question and one that gives me pause each time. I think for a moment, considering my answer. I don’t want to sound cliché and give the, “since I was a kid,” answer, but it’s the truth. So, I push aside the redundancy of an answer I think many writers give, and answer with a resounding, “since I was a kid,” to the curious inquisit