Yes, it is a stigma.
Ever since AI came on the scene as a large language model and everyone was impressed by its versatile linguistic functions, many started to stigmatize anyone who uses it for their writing.
As if using it to smooth your work somehow invalidates your creativity. So … does that mean that all those editor jobs should just disappear from the publishing world? Because, apparently, if an editor runs their pencil through your work and underlines certain mistakes, they could claim authorship.
Not on my watch.
When I was in school, our teachers told us so many times about the many items we should look for before submitting a paragraph (yes, it was just a paragraph back then - happy times!), or else the red pen would come out, and no one wants to see red marks on their paper. I still get the shivers just thinking about it.
Back then, they were just half-marks for grammar, vocab, and punctuation; now it could be the decisive half-mark of your career. Who wouldn’t want a way to make that statement of interest or the summary section in your résumé look more professional? Why wouldn’t I use something that’s out there for free (for now?) to be my editor and fix some run-on sentences? Yes, I get many of those, just look at the previous paragraphs - three-line sentences in each. Well … I’m gonna put that under ‘unique writing style’.
I understand that writing could be a daunting experience sometimes - a blank page waiting for you to fill, and the words just crowd your head until you feel it’ll explode. Plus, the stakes get higher the more your career depends on it - nerves come into play and all of a sudden you’re afraid to write one coherent sentence. So you do the less scary thing and use those words as a prompt, et voilà - all your fears disappear.
Or do they?
That’s where the stigma lies: letting AI do all the work for you is the big no-no in my book, and should be in yours as well. Just write your truth, go back and fix your mistakes until you think you got most of them. Then - with a capital T - run it through your favorite editor with the instructions: ‘don’t change my words or style, don’t rewrite on your own, just proofread.’
What will it do? It’ll give you a list that has a missed comma here or a capital letter there, all the way to flagging when something doesn’t make sense - that’s an editor’s job, not yours.
Yours is to write and fill the world with your ideas and experiences and views and recipes and studies and passions and fantasies and you name it, my friend. AI’s job is to make sure that when someone reads your work, there are no typos.
Speaking of - many people now deliberately misspell their work so it passes as human and not AI-generated. Excuse me, what? So we need to forgo our education and a lifelong quest to elevate our skills just to prove that we wrote the piece?
I don’t think so.
I remember one of my CELTA tutors praising my writing before I was introduced to LLMs. What he didn’t know was the toll it took on my eyes and nerves to hunt for those pesky mistakes - getting up in the middle of the night to read and reread, over and over, until I found the culprit that was nagging at the back of my skull.
Yeah, fun!
You know when you can call it a stigma? When you didn’t write the work yourself. You’ll know it - your conscience will keep at you, calling you a fraud. And to be honest, you will be one if you let it do EVERYTHING.
Just write.
Let it be a crutch if you need it. Then, trust me, that need will grow less and less the more you write. The panic will take a back seat. Submission criteria that ban AI usage won’t scare you anymore.
You’ll find your rhythm, you’ll thank your editor, and you’ll know deep down that it’s all yours.
