Planting seeds for change
We often don’t – or rather, we cannot – realise the effects of great change while it is occurring.
Sometimes, seismic change is evident immediately, even if we can’t foretell its long-term consequences. In publishing, in the 1980s we saw great technological and economic changes as they rolled in: the introduction of the personal computer and desktop publishing.
But large-scale changes tend to slide into our collective subconsciousness slowly, glacially – and before we know it, we’re fully reliant on them. The introduction of the smartphone is one of those. The release of generative AI (GenAI) is probably another.
The consequences of change
Public responses to the first iteration of ChatGPT in November 2022 were guarded – and rightly so, given its genesis in the unauthorised and unremitted harvesting of copyrighted works. By the time the publishing industry and government regulators woke up to the implications of this large-scale theft, it was almost too late. However, within a matter of months, different sectors of the economy, and the public more broadly, had quietly but enthusiastically taken up its use.
A few years down the track, and some of the major impacts of GenAI are becoming evident. The first, and perhaps most important, is that authors and publishers have taken a clear and unequivocal stance: we are not willing to stand by passively while tech companies breach our copyright wholesale, without due permissions and compensation. And, in response, the Australian government has affirmed copyright as the basis of cultural and economic value and has committed to exploring licensing options for GenAI. A welcome development, if you ask me. Recently, the European and International Booksellers Federation released a Charter on Artificial Intelligence, and I feel optimistic that other countries will soon follow suit.
The changes wrought by the introduction of GenAI are economic, cultural, social and personal, and environmentally significant. They’ve sparked a revolution in thinking about economic and social concepts such as productivity, efficiency and creativity – and, by extension, about the nature of human intelligence and the workings of the human mind.
But ethical issues, such as those related to authorship and copyright, are likely to be personally and publicly vexing for quite some time to come.
Editors are already facing these issues head-on, whether they like it or not.
To edit, or not to edit?
The big issue that remains out of the control of the independent editor is the writer’s decision about whether they will pay to work with an editor in the development of their manuscript towards submission to a publisher or literary agent, or to self-publication.
In some quarters, there’s already talk that GenAI has replaced the work of the human editor. Even people who should know better are nonetheless experimenting with it quietly, perhaps with an eye on cost-savings.
But the aim of this post is not to convince you about the utility of GenAI. Authors and publishers who are serious about producing quality literature will be familiar with the adage that ‘you get what you pay for’. Though, with increasingly tighter budgets, they must surely be wondering whether the reading public will even notice if a corner is being cut here and there. Many readers already put up with sub-standard publications.
Authors of narrative fiction and non-fiction who argue that they’re using GenAI to take care of the ‘nuts and bolts’ of language (spelling, punctuation, grammar, syntax and so on) while they focus on the creative aspects of writing may be sidestepping the question of ethics and whether they are being complicit in the devaluing of professional editing. (Professional editors and copywriters are now talking about job losses and a downturn in offers for freelance projects.)
Editors are already undervalued, but are we now also being devalued?
Editing was already undervalued when I started in the profession more than 30 years ago. Today, the jobbing editor must work extra hard, not only to justify the practical and intangible values of working with a human editor, but also to hold onto regressively lower and lower rates of pay. I am no longer surprised by online posts in which ‘writers’ claim that they’ve had their 100,000-word manuscript ‘edited’ for just $500, or that their manuscript has been ‘edited’ or ‘proofread’ by a GenAI app ‘for free’.
The question of ethical authorship and who owns the copyright of works produced by prompting a GenAI app remains unanswered for now. But there’s no question that GenAI is being used by some to generate content for publication as ‘literature’, and to my mind this is leading a race to the bottom, in economic, cultural, literary and aesthetic terms.
Which leads me to the point of this post: how to maintain standards of quality and credibility in the face of all this. I love and value my work, so it can be disheartening – depressing, even – to see it being undervalued and devalued. How might I maintain a high standard in my editing practice, despite these obstacles? More broadly, how shall I make the most of my working life and enjoy the projects to which I devote my efforts?
How do we maintain high standards, in writing and editing?
Maybe I don’t need to change very much. I have the requisite education and knowledge, and the expertise that comes from having worked as a writer and editor for publication since the late 1980s. As a professional and as an avid reader who enjoys books and stories from a wide range of literary genres, I know how to recognise good-quality writing.
But GenAI can probably do that, too, right? These apps have been programmed to learn from the best – indeed, by wholesale ingestion of works by human creators.
Perhaps the solution is in the work itself. I may not be able to instantly recognise content generated by AI, but I can analyse a text’s ability to engage, deeply and resonantly, with its reading audience. That’s something GenAI can’t do – at least not yet.
At this liminal point, we don’t know whether (and how) AI could take over our jobs and our livelihoods. It’s anyone’s guess at this point.
So I remind myself that I have a career’s-worth of experience with writers and publishers who are serious about producing quality literature and about making a positive contribution to society. I know how much they value the editor–author relationship. At its best, the intimacy and the sensitivity within that relationship brings its own reward for both parties. You can’t get that with an AI tool.
Let’s simplify things
How many times have I said this? I want to simplify how I work and live. I don’t need a lot to be happy.
It’s difficult to keep things simple in this high-tech age. Hard to keep track of all our stuff. Near impossible to avoid the constant barrage of ‘special offers’ and ‘must-haves’.
Get a smartphone? Yes. A cover to protect it? Naturally. A smartwatch to keep track of the smartphone? Ohhh-kay-then.
When does it stop? (A: It doesn’t.)
Before we know it, we have a graveyard of obsolete tech gadgets, including their unique chargers, leads and user instructions that we hold onto, ‘just in case’, or because there isn’t a tech recycler nearby and we don’t know how else to dispose of them responsibly.
A reflection
A recent, somewhat unexpected, stay in hospital gave me time to ponder how I’m doing in a career sense, in business and in life. I usually reserve this kind of pondering for the end-of-year and start-of-new year reviews that have become habits in my business and life planning, but this September – well, needs must, and I did it.
“I think I’m going to simplify my business when I get out of here,” I announced to the (almost) bare walls of my hospital ward. “It’s time to simplify things, to go back to basics. Simplicity will be the name of the game.”
SIMPLICITY…
the quality of being easy to understand or do [Cambridge dictionary]
the quality or condition of being plain or uncomplicated in form or design [Oxford dictionary]
Occam’s hoofbeats
Obviously, I am not the first to be attracted to the idea of a simple life.
The earliest philosophers and scientists, from Aristotle (‘Nature operates in the shortest way possible’) to Ernst Mach (‘Scientists must use the simplest means of arriving at their results and exclude everything not perceived by the senses’), have declared the value of simplicity.
My personal favourite: ‘When you hear hoofbeats, think of horses not zebras’ (Theodore Woodward).
Simplicity is a welcome concept in the editorial world, where we seek to ‘clarify’, to turn complex into comprehensible, and we tend to favour plain language over that which is obtuse or ambiguous.
A welcome concept, but not an easy one.
A re-branding?
Another revelation, which I tested on the religious icon hanging opposite my hospital bed, was that I could – and really should – just do the kinds of work I enjoy. I decided then and there: as soon as I got home and was physically able, I would Marie-Kondo the heck out of my editorial business. Pare down my service offerings, so that I would only be working on projects that ‘spark joy’.
And I did.
Well, sort of.
I commissioned a new, simplified website to match my streamlined business model. Thought about all the ways I could renew my sense of fun and joy in life and embed this into every project I take on. When I told a friend about this, their response was, well of course – it’s time for a re-brand!
“No,” said I. “I am not a brand.”
That is not the purpose nor the desired outcome of my life’s work.
And so, here you are today, dear reader, on my brand-new website. I hope you like it.
Will it help me towards the simplicity I so deeply desire at this stage in my working life? It’s early days, but I remain ever hopeful.