Finding My Voice, Again
A reimagining of the “AI” – analog intelligence in “La Fabrique” – that powered Alexander Dumas 19th-century storytelling. Image by DALL-E.
The Stories That Couldn’t Escape
For as long as I can remember, I have been an unfulfilled creative writer. I am constantly imagining new tales in my head. When I was young, I was able to put pencil to paper as part of my schoolwork. By my senior year of high school, I was chosen as editor of my school's creative writing magazine. That was my writing zenith. I peaked at seventeen.
From there, life got in the way. Making a living, raising a family, and the occasional crisis preempted that creative pursuit. However, the ideas never stopped coming.
Decades passed with stories trapped in my head—too complex for my limited typing skills and too time-consuming for my packed schedule. I’d start projects only to abandon them when the mechanical act of writing couldn’t keep pace with my imagination. The frustration was real: having the creative vision but lacking the practical means to execute it efficiently.
Then, in my old age, I discovered AI collaboration—and suddenly, I had a writing partner that could keep up with my ideas.
The Collaboration That Changed Everything
Recently, I worked with AI to develop a short story entitled Chance of Death. The idea was hatched after listening to Dateline murder podcasts in the car on a trip to visit my mother in Asheville, North Carolina. After seeing firsthand the damage done by the previous year’s flood, a story idea bubbled up. Soon, I had a clear vision of the physical and psychological journey I wanted to explore.
What emerged was genuinely my story—my concept, my characters, my emotional arc—but executed at a speed and polish level that would have taken me months to achieve alone.
But was it really my writing? That question nagged at me until I started researching the history of collaborative fiction. What I discovered surprised me: some of literature’s most beloved works emerged from collaborative processes that mirror AI partnership remarkably closely.
The Secret History of Collaborative Fiction
Take Alexandre Dumas, creator of The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. Dumas operated what amounted to a 19th-century writing factory—La Fabrique. He conceived the stories, developed the characters, and made all major creative decisions, but delegated research, scene construction, and initial drafts to collaborators like Auguste Maquet. Dumas would then revise everything, imposing his distinctive voice and style.
Sound familiar? That’s essentially what I did with AI—I provided the creative vision and made the key artistic decisions, while my AI partner handled much of the execution.
James Patterson has built an entire career on this model. He creates incredibly detailed outlines—sometimes 50 to 80 pages long—then collaborates with other writers to produce full manuscripts. Patterson maintains creative control over every major element while scaling his output far beyond what any single writer could achieve alone. The result? Hundreds of bestselling novels that readers readily accept as "Patterson" books.
Even the detective fiction legend Ellery Queen was actually two writers working in seamless collaboration for decades. Their partnership produced classic mysteries that defined the genre.
What Makes Writing “Yours”?
These examples forced me to reconsider what makes writing authentically mine. Is it the physical act of typing every word? Or is it the creative vision, the story architecture, the character development, and the thematic choices?
When I outline a story, decide how characters should develop, choose the emotional beats, and shape the final narrative—that’s authorship. The fact that my AI partner can execute that vision faster than my two-finger typing doesn’t diminish my creative ownership any more than Dumas’s use of research assistants diminished his.
Think of it this way: a film director doesn’t operate the camera, edit the footage, or write the music—yet we consider it their movie because they shaped the creative vision. An architect designs buildings without laying bricks. A composer might not play every instrument in the orchestra.
Creative leadership and execution have always been different skills. AI collaboration simply makes that distinction more apparent.
The Democratization of Collaboration
What excites me most about AI collaboration is how it democratizes the writing process. Dumas needed wealth to maintain his writing factory. Patterson works within an established publishing infrastructure. But today, any writer can access sophisticated creative partnership regardless of their resources or connections.
For someone like me—overflowing with ideas but limited by practical constraints—AI collaboration is liberating. It allows the creative vision to flow without being bottlenecked by mechanical execution. The stories that lived trapped in my head for decades can finally find their way onto the page.
Returning to Literature’s Roots
The anxiety surrounding AI collaboration might stem from our Romantic-era mythology about solitary genius. But before the 19th century, collaborative creation was the norm, not the exception. Medieval scribes worked in teams. Shakespeare collaborated extensively with other playwrights. Even religious texts like the Bible represent collaborative efforts across centuries.
The notion that authentic writing must emerge from isolated struggle is historically anomalous. We’ve fetishized the image of the lone writer battling the blank page—but that’s more mythology than reality.
Finding My Voice Through Partnership
Working with AI didn’t diminish my creative voice—it amplified it. The stories are still mine, born from my imagination and shaped by my choices. The AI partner simply helped me execute that vision more effectively than I could alone.
Murder of Crows emerged from my concept of using supernatural justice to explore themes of revenge and moral corruption. Every key creative decision—the historical setting, the escalating violence, the folklore elements, the psychological arc—came from me. The AI helped me develop these ideas into polished prose, but the creative DNA is entirely my own.
Some traditionalists argue that this somehow compromises the integrity of the work. But if the result is compelling fiction that moves readers and explores meaningful themes, does the collaborative process really matter? Dumas’s readers didn’t care about his writing factory—they cared about The Three Musketeers. Patterson’s fans don’t feel cheated by his collaborative model—they’re happy to have more books to enjoy.
The Future of Storytelling
AI collaboration isn’t replacing traditional writing—it’s expanding the possibilities of what storytelling can be. Writers with great ideas but limited time or technical skills can now bring their visions to life. The technology serves creativity rather than replacing it.
As I plan my next story, I’m no longer frustrated by the gap between imagination and execution. I have a partner that can keep pace with my ideas, help me explore possibilities I might not have considered alone, and assist in crafting prose that does justice to my creative vision.
The ideas that have flooded my brain for decades finally have a path to the page. And that feels like coming home to who I was always meant to be—a storyteller, finally able to tell my stories.
After all these years, I’m writing again. And it feels authentically, entirely mine.