Reels of kittens are tolerable. But I don’t want AI to by my co-writer

I earn a living by writing advertisements, and I am constantly frowned upon by my colleagues for my 'unreasonable' dislike of AI. One of them even predicts that one day, when I am drained of my last idea and the final thread of craft, I will wake up and realise what AI can do to both my advertising and literary careers

Once upon a time, when we said there was a storyteller in everyone, we were probably hinting at the possibility of how everyday life could be fictionalised. With the advent of AI, the phrase has a new meaning. Now, when we say there is a storyteller in everyone, we are probably hinting at the power of AI.

4 min readNov 9, 2026 06:01 PM IST First published on: Nov 9, 2026 at 06:01 PM IST

I was kind of obsessed with watching reels about kittens. I loved their naughtiness and innocence, their sprightly movements and fights for food, until I realised that their innocence was the work of AI. I still watch them, but with less interest and less involvement. For me, AI-generated kittens are still passable, but I wouldn’t touch an AI-written book even with a long pole.

Nearly a year ago, I had a call from a long-time friend who excitedly told me that “we are finally going to write a novel.” We? I thought. Hadn’t it always been “I”? How “I” couldn’t get started, how “I” couldn’t get the plot right, how “I” couldn’t get off the writer’s block, and how “I” couldn’t get the story moving. And all of a sudden it was “we”. I thought he was going to co-author the book with his wife, who, to the best of my knowledge, dreamed of writing a whodunit herself while he was interested in nothing but historical novels. As someone who believes that writing is, and has to be, a solo act, I cautioned him about the co-authoring venture, telling him how differences could crop up, outlooks could clash, and styles could jar. He asked me not to worry; his co-author was not his better half but AI. I had a change of heart and told him he should consider writing the book with his wife instead; at least she is human. He said his wife had also started to write her own novel, and she was relying as much on AI as him. They were, in fact, in a race, and she was already in the final chapter while he had just crossed the halfway mark. “Maybe AI likes women better,” he joked. My response was cold and cynical, but I appreciated the fact that at least he was honest about relying on AI.

Another call I received more recently was less honest. The caller requested me to write a blurb for a book he was all set to publish. I had never thought he was aspiring to be an author; he always claimed wildlife photography was his calling. I guessed he had written a book on wildlife, but my guess proved to be wrong. He had penned a book on, of all things, metaphysical cosmology. Why cosmology? And why on earth metaphysical cosmology? His answer surprised me: Cosmology is an easy subject to write on, and metaphysical cosmology is fun. He sent me the manuscript shortly afterwards. Barely into the second page, I knew it was not “I” but “we” who wrote the book. When I asked him questions, intentionally difficult ones, he called me pompous and never called me again.

I earn a living by writing advertisements, and I am constantly frowned upon by my colleagues for my “unreasonable” dislike of AI. One of them even predicts that one day, when I am drained of my last idea and the final thread of craft, I will wake up and realise what AI can do to both my advertising and literary careers. I keep telling him that I would rather beg, borrow, or even steal.

Once upon a time, when we said there was a storyteller in everyone, we were probably hinting at the possibility of how everyday life could be fictionalised. With the advent of AI, the phrase has a new meaning. Now, when we say there is a storyteller in everyone, we are probably hinting at the power of AI.

Imagine this scenario: You write a book with the help of AI, you get it out through vanity publishing, you receive hundreds of five-star paid reviews, and, at the end of it all, you win the award for the best novel, constituted by an AI giant. Then I will consider writing as an art without soul, an art without purpose. Call me pompous, or call me a misfit.