Tag: Pulp Era

Some early thoughts on AI-assisted writing

I remember the early days of indie publishing. Back in 2011, when self-publishing was still a dirty word (and Kindle Unlimited wasn’t yet a thing), there were a LOT of opinions about “indie vs. tradpub,” most of them heated opinions, and some of the arguments I witnessed at conventions like 2011 Worldcon Reno very nearly came to blows—which is to say nothing of the online discourse.

And yet, if I could go back to those times, I would tell my younger self not to spend so much time as a keyboard warrior on KBoards, because guess how much all that sturm und drang ultimately mattered? Not much. Instead, I would have told my younger self to focus on things like learning how to market myself and my books, learning how to build and run a business, and learning how to, for lack of a better word, network effectively, because the longer I stay in this business the more I realize that community is the thing that really drives everything.

(Though I still would have told him to delete his social media. That’s not community—it’s just a string of toxic echo chambers spreading toxic mind viruses that keep us all in the matrix.)

Anyhow, I say all of that by way of preface on my thoughts about AI-assisted writing, because I see many of the same things playing out right now. There are a lot of opinions floating around out there about AI, most of them heated, some of them to blows. And yet, I can’t help but get the sense that most of the noise right now isn’t going to matter much after the changes shake out. Therefore, my working assumption at this point is that most of the noise and argument is just a waste of time. The stronger the opinion, the less of a difference it will probably make.

For example, back in 2011, the groupthink consensus over at SFWA was that indie publishing was terrible, indie writers were going to destroy literature, and the publishing world needed gatekeepers in the form of agents and editors. Five years later, they amended their membership requirements to allow indies to join. Fast forward to today, and the groupthink consensus over at SFWA is that AI-assisted writing is tantamount to plagiarism, that AI is going to destroy literature, and that the publishing world needs to do everything it can to preserve the human element of writing. Are you beginning to see a pattern?

For the last two months, I’ve been experimenting with some of these AI writing tools. I’m still in the very early stages of integrating AI into my writing process, but I really do think that in the not too distant future, almost everyone who writes will use some form of generative AI in their process. After all, how many people still write with manual typewriters? A few, but not many.

And think of how much computers and word processors changed how we think about writing, compared to the old days when everything was done by typewriter and everyone knew what a SASE was. For one thing, revising was much more of a pain, since it required retyping everything—no small thing for a long book. Therefore, books and stories were probably much shorter, and writers much better at producing clean first drafts. Also, the revision draft was a genuine draft—no cycling through yesterday’s work to get yourself into the zone.

And how did the typewriter change how we thought about writing, back when it replaced longhand, or whatever the heck came before? It probably enabled skilled typists to write a lot faster—but that meant a lot less ruminating over the text. Was that why 19th century writing was so much more flowery and verbose: because the writing process involved spending more time with the language, and therefore immersing yourself more fully in it? Was the typewriter one of the major drivers of the pulp era, enabling fast writers like Hubbard, Howard, and Lovecraft to produce vastly more content for vastly more markets and publishers?

I really do think we’re on the cusp of a revolution in how we think about writing, and I suspect that generative AI is going to be at the heart of it. And it may turn out that the writers who cut their teeth in the previous era, when every word had to come from your own mind, will have an outsized advantage in the new, because we will be strong in areas where writers who come of age with generative AI will be weak.

Or it may be that most of us old-timers will cling to the old ways and never learn the new, excusing our willful ignorance in the name of “preserving our humanity.” It may be that we have so much to unlearn in order to make it in this new era that most of us won’t be able to make the transition.

What do you think, ChatGPT?

As an AI language model, I don’t have personal opinions or beliefs, but I can provide some analysis and insights based on the information you’ve shared.

It’s interesting to observe parallels between the early days of indie publishing and the current discussions surrounding AI-assisted writing. When new technologies or methodologies emerge, it’s common to see a range of opinions, often polarized, as people try to understand and adapt to the changes they bring. Over time, these opinions may evolve as the benefits and limitations of the new approaches become clearer.

AI-assisted writing tools are indeed gaining popularity, and it’s likely that they will become more integrated into the writing process for many authors in the future. Just as word processors changed the way we approach writing, AI tools have the potential to reshape the writing landscape, offering new possibilities and efficiencies.

However, it’s important to note that AI is a tool, and its impact on the writing process will depend on how it is utilized. While some fear that AI will lead to a loss of creativity or human touch, others see it as a valuable aid that can enhance productivity and offer new creative avenues. Ultimately, the extent to which writers embrace AI-assisted writing will vary, and different authors will find their own balance between leveraging AI tools and preserving their preferred writing methods.

Experience and skill acquired through traditional writing processes are likely to remain valuable, as they provide a foundation for storytelling and an understanding of narrative structure and language. Writers who have honed their craft in the pre-AI era may indeed have advantages in certain areas. However, it’s also important to acknowledge that new generations of writers growing up with AI tools may develop unique skills and approaches that complement the capabilities of these technologies.

The transition to any new era brings challenges and opportunities. It’s up to individual writers to explore and adapt to the changes that AI-assisted writing offers, determining how best to integrate these tools into their creative processes while staying true to their own artistic vision. The writing community, as you mentioned, plays a crucial role in sharing insights, experiences, and support as this evolution takes place.

In the end, the impact of AI on writing will be shaped by how writers choose to embrace and utilize the technology, and the value of community, collaboration, and individual creativity will continue to be important factors in the literary world.

What aspects of AI-assisted writing should we be focusing more on right now?

We should be focusing on exploring the capabilities and limitations of AI-assisted writing, understanding how it can be integrated into the writing process, and developing ethical standards and guidelines for its use. Additionally, we should be considering the potential impact of AI on the writing industry, such as changes to the job market and the possibility of increased accessibility to writing and publishing for marginalized voices.

Did the internet ruin fandom?

Ever since I made a spreadsheet to track all the Hugo and Nebula award-winning books, I’ve noticed some interesting patterns. I’ve already blogged about how the genre seemed to transform after the creation of SFWA and the introduction of the Nebula Awards. That seems to mark the point where the left’s long march through the institutions began in our genre, though it may be coincidental as that is also when the New Wave began. Or the two events may be connected, which wouldn’t surprise me.

In any case, I’ve expanded that spreadsheet to include the Dragon Awards and the Goodreads Choice Awards for the fantasy and science fiction categories, and I’m now in the process of adding all the books from the Locus magazine’s readers’ poll, at least for science fiction and fantasy. From what I can tell, Locus basically sets which books will be considered for nomination with most of the older awards, creating what a cynical person might call a “master slate.” And since Locus has been insufferably woke for a very long time (I still read my local university library’s copy every month, though articles like this one make me question why), that goes a long way to explaining how the Hugos and Nebulas became so woke—though I’m still not sure if Locus is woke because its core readership (and primary revenue source), the New York publishing establishment, is woke, or if the organization was captured during the left’s long march through the institutions. Or if Locus has simply been woke from its inception.

But I’ve noticed other patterns, including some with the Goodread’s Choice Awards (which include a very public vote tally) that seem to indicate that the Hugos, the Nebulas, and the Locus readers’ poll are now of minimal cultural significance: a sideshow, if you will, or a very small clique that represents the genre’s past, not its future. Which is actually pretty obvious—you don’t need to assemble a spreadsheet of thousands of books to see that. But it’s an interesting pattern nonetheless, and it’s made me wonder if perhaps the rise of the internet—in particular, social media—killed fandom, at least as we traditionally understand it.

From what I can tell, SF&F fandom began in the 20s during the era of Hugo Gernsback’s “scientifiction” and the pulps. During the Golden Age of the 30s and 40s, fandom began to organize things Worldcon and the Hugos, but the genre was still very monolothic, with so few books and magazines being published each year that it was possible for a devoted fan to read all of them. In fact, the culture generally was very monolithic, with ABC, NBC, and CBS dominating television, the New York Times dominating the newspapers, and Life and the Saturday Evening Post dominating the magazines.

Because of the monolithic nature of the culture during this time, it was possible for a single figure to dominate and shape the field, like Walter Cronkite in journalism, or John W. Campbell Jr. in science fiction. But fandom was still mostly a localized affair, with geographical distance and the limitations of communications technology keeping fannish controversies from becoming too fractious or toxic—though not for lack of effort. But in a world without internet, where arguments happened either in person at conventions or the local club, or else evolved gradually in the pages of the various fanzines, none of the factions ever tried to split or go their own way. Granted, part of that was due to the monolithic nature of the genre—if they did split off, where would they go?—but there was still a sense that everyone in their small corner of fandom was a part of a far greater whole, even with all of their passionate and sometimes fractious opinions.

But as science fiction grew, it became less monolithic, if for no other reason than that it was no longer possible to read all of the books and magazines that were coming out. From what I can tell, the genre crossed that threshold sometime in the 60s. This was also when the New Wave pushed back against the standards set by Campbell and began producing some very experimental (and also more left-wing) work. But fandom didn’t totally fracture at this time. Instead, from what I can tell, the Locus reader’s poll emerged in order to filter out everything but the very best work for consideration for the awards.

In a world where everyone considers themselves to be part of the larger community of fandom, awards—even the relatively minor ones—carry a lot of weight. This remained true through the 70s and 80s as science fiction grew to the point where it truly went mainstream. In fact, the awards became even more important, because there was no longer any way for even the most devoted fan to read (or watch, or play) all of the new books and magazines (or movies, or shows, or games) that were coming out. New subgenres and subcultures of fandom began to emerge, but everyone still looked to the awards—particularly the Hugos and the Nebulas—as the standard of excellence.

But the publishers placed even more weight on the awards, because winning a Hugo, or getting on a New York Times bestseller list, often were key to propelling sales. So over time, the publishers gradually took over the awards, as well as the organizations and infrastructure that had been built around them. With the Nebulas, it isn’t hard to see how this happened, as SFWA allows publishers to be members (creating a very obvious conflict of interest that the leadership of that organization has chosen to ignore). With the Hugos, it probably happened through Locus, since the magazine depends so much on advertising for its financials. This became even more true as the subscriber base declined in the 90s, as it did for all of the major magazines in the field.

What caused the decline in subscribers? The internet, of course. Fans no longer depended on the ‘zines to stay in touch with the broader community, but began to organize into listservs, email chains, and message board forums instead. Later, blogs and social media continued this trend. Geographic distance became increasingly irrelevant, and fandom became less of something that you connected with through your local group of friends and more something that you connected with online as an atomized individual.

But ironically, the more interconnected fandom became via the internet, the more it began to fracture. All of those passionate opinions were no longer tempered by the boundaries of time and distance, and the snarkiest and most vitriolic or self-righteous opinions were often the ones that garnered the largest audience. This became even more true with the advent of social media, which relies on amplifying outrage to addict its users and maximize profits. Social media also encouraged the formation of echo chambers, where the various corners of fandom spent so much time talking to each other than they soon had little in common with the wider fandom. Geographical distance counted much less, but ideological distance counted for more—much more.

But did the internet ruin fandom, or save it? Or in other words, was this transformation a net loss or a net gain for fans of the genre? Because, on the creation side of things, I think the internet was very much a positive development. No longer did a creator have to rely on a small clique of ossified New York gatekeepers for their work to see the light of day, and the nature of online distribution meant that a quirky book written for a tiny but underserved subculture could find and grow an audience quite effectively, even without any mainstream appeal. Of course, this only accelerated the division of fandom, but it also meant that those subcultures—many of which had been underserved for decades—now had much more content tailored specifically for them.

In the 10s, the deepening divisions within fandom manifested in a fight for control of the major awards—specifically, the Hugos. That was whate the puppies were all about. But the fight became so toxic that the awards themselves became discredited, and the victory of the wrongfun brigade proved to be a Pyrrhic one. And because the culture is no longer monolithic, and fandom is no longer a single community united by a love for the same thing, the fall of the awards has given us a world where it matters much less that you’re a fan of science fiction and fantasy generally, and much more that you’re a fan of X author, or X game, or X thing.

Gone are the days when a single author, or editor, or influencer can reshape the culture in their own image. The wrongfun brigade is still trying to do that, but all they will ultimately accomplish is to destroy everything that they touch, including all of the legacy institutions that they now control. But this also means that we’ve lost that sense of being part of a larger, broader community. Of course, it’s fair to argue that that was always just an illusion, and that we’re all much better off now that there’s something literally for everybody. But I do think that’s come at a cost of increasing social isolation.

The pandemic has no doubt accelerated this. I wasn’t at Chicon or Dragoncon this past weekend, but I have friends that were, and I plan to meet up with them at FanX Salt Lake later this month. It will be interesting to get their take on all this. In the meantime, I will continue to fill out my book awards spreadsheet and look for interesting patterns.

2020-02-20 Newsletter Author’s Note: Thoughts on the History and Future of Science Fiction (Part 1)

This author’s note originally appeared in the February 20th edition of my newsletter. To sign up for my author newsletter, click here.

One of the projects I hope to get to someday is to make a podcast on the history of science fiction. I’m a huge fan of podcasts, and subscribe to almost 100 of them, and some of my favorites are history podcasts like Hardcore History, History of Rome, Revolutions, The Cold War: What We Saw, etc. At this point in my life, I don’t think it’s the right time to get into podcasting, but at some point in the next few years I’d really like to try my hand at it.

I have thought a lot about what this History of Science Fiction podcast would look like, though, and it’s led to some interesting thoughts about the future direction of the genre. Let me explain.

Modern science fiction began with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which laid the groundwork for just about everything else. Authors like Jules Verne and H.G. Wells picked up the torch, launching “scientific romance” as its own literary genre. Many of the conventions and tropes of science fiction were set during this era, which lasted from the 1820s through the early 1900s.

The next major era of science fiction was the era of the pulps, which experienced its heyday in the 1920s and 30s. The publishing innovations that had made the penny dreadfuls possible only a generation earlier now led to a proliferation of novels and short story magazines, opening up all sorts of opportunities for new writers.

This was the era of bug-eyed aliens and scantily-clothed damsels in distress, as frequently displayed in the cover art. Science fiction, mystery, western, adventure, and true crime stories were all mashed up together. Major names from this era include Edgar Rice Burroughs and Hugo Gernsback, who coined the term “scientifiction” to distinguish the stories that would later be called under the name “science fiction.”

The pulps laid the groundwork for the golden age, which lasted through the 40s and 50s. It was greatly influenced by John Campbell’s tenure as editor of Astounding Science Fiction, and the authors that he mentored. This was when science fiction really came into its own. Major authors from this era include Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, Arthur C. Clarke, George Orwell, and Ray Bradbury.

The next major era was the New Wave, when authors like Ursula K. Le Guin, Michael Moorcock, Frank Herbert, and Phillip K. Dick broke out of the conventions established by Campbell and other golden age figures, experimenting with new styles and creating new tropes. This was when we began to distinguish between “hard” science fiction that revolved around the hard sciences like physics and math, and “soft” science fiction that revolved instead around things like political science and social studies. The political radicalism of the 60s and 70s also influenced the science fiction of this era.

At this point, most histories of science fiction point to an era called “cyberpunk” or “the digital age,” which emerged in the 80s and defines the period that we’re currently living through. However, I don’t think this is correct. Instead, I think that literary science fiction went through a dark age from the mid-80s to the late 00s, and only recently began to emerge from it. Let me explain.

In film, TV, and video games, the 80s and 90s were a golden age. For books, however, it was exactly the opposite. The rise of the big box stores like Borders and Barnes & Noble drove independent booksellers out of business, which caused many local distribution companies to collapse. This, in turn, led to a period of mergers and consolidation within the publishing industry, giving rise to the “big six”: Hachette, HarperCollins, Macmillan, Penguin, Random House, and Simon & Schuster.

At the same time, the rise of the internet led to a massive and precipitous decline across newspapers and periodicals, including traditional short story magazines such as Analog and Asimov’s. Most of the science fiction magazines folded, unable to adapt their business models to the changing world. This would later change as podcasting and crowdfunding, but before those innovations would later revolutionize the industry, many considered short stories to be dead.

The effect of all of this was that literary science fiction entered a period of managed (and sometimes catastrophic) decline. As the publishing houses merged and consolidated, their offices all moved to New York City in order to pool talent and resources into one geographic center. However, this also led to problems like groupthink as publishing fell in an echo chamber.

Science fiction began to balkanize. The proliferation of cyberpunk, steampunk, deiselpunk, biopunk, and all the other _____punk subgenres is emblematic of this. Furthermore, as all of the major editors became caught up in the echo chambers of progressive, blue-state politics, they increasingly overlooked red state authors from “flyover country.” Baen, whose offices are in North Carolina, has never suffered from this, but Tor and the other New York publishers really have.

I think Orson Scott Card really bookends this period. In the 80s, he was the first author to win the Hugo and the Nebula in the same year. In the 00s, he was all but excommunicated from the canon for his allegedly homophobic views. Science fiction had transformed from the big tent genre of the 50s, 60s, and 70s to something so balkanized, elitist, and radical that “wrongthink” had unironically become a crime in the very genre that had invented the term.

And then indie publishing happened.

This author’s note is getting long, and there are other things (including writing) that I have to do today, so I’ll have to end on that note. I’ll follow up in my next newsletter with my thoughts on current trends in the science fiction genre, and where we’re heading from here. I think the 20s will see some massive creative destruction, but ultimately I’m hopeful that the best is yet to come. The dark age is over, and there’s never been a better time to be a reader—or a writer!