From the “X-Factor” TV show: Harry Styles (center), and four other people.
I’m getting a little bored with conversations about the impact of chat GP-blah. I get it. Bots are going to erase us all, then that’s it. Meantime we should engage in a blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. The bot itself could fill out the rest of such a conversation. Before long we’ll be asking ourselves if we’re robots, too. It’ll be like the movie, Bladerunner. Only the production design will be far less engaging. And I still won’t look like Harrison Ford. I’m not denying the importance of the “current discourse.” It is what it is. I’m actually working on a project with a client where Chat GPT does the drafting. We come up with the ideas and prompt it to write the first draft. Then I polish. It’s so much fun. But these conversations about AI have got very little to do with why I love the written word.
I’m going to sound a bit like a beloved college English professor, now. His name was Rodney Hillman. He couldn’t read a verse of poetry or dialog aloud without getting excited. That zest was infectious. We would emerge from his classes marveling at how an academic could be so un-jaded. I, now, am going to tell you why I love writing. Because it’s always so important to be so direct about the stuff. And then we’ll figure out how you can get the “X-factor” into your work.
I write for a living. On average I write about 5,000 words a week.
I can tell you that about once a year, I’ll write something fantastic. Most of the time my writing is very good. I’m not one for false modesty. My work is always of publishable quality. But that one time a year, the piece will sing. It’s like when Stefan Curry shoots a three-point shot and he doesn’t even need to watch. He’ll turn away before it swishes through the net. Three points.
What gives such pieces the “X-factor”?
Sadly, I wish I could tell you. The point of the “X” is, I can’t. It’s usually a combination of all the right bits of training. Experience. The timing is right. The author is right. The subject is right. I’m well rested and focused. Then there’s…something extra. If I knew what it was, I’d replicate it more often. Being honest, the truth is, I’m often as mystified by it as anybody else. That’s what makes it so rare. It’s why the Beatles were remarkable. It’s why One Direction won Simon Cowell’s competition on television and became successful. There was magic there.
You know it when you see it. You can’t always predict it. It’s why I write for a living instead of doing anything else. I’m not comparing myself to the Beatles, either. I’m saying we all have the “X-factor.” We’re all capable of producing writing of this quality. It’s about believing that and focusing hard enough to churn it out.
Writing is a practice. It’s like yoga. It’s like art. You’ve got to work at it. And every now and then I’ll turn out a few sentences that make me proud to have written them. Meanwhile, I’ve read two pieces of writing this year that have given me a sense of the same thing. The first was a description of a squash game in a novel about grief called “Western Lane,” by Chetna Maroo. The other was a description of a murder in a fictional book based on Josef Stalin’s visit to London in 1907. Both paragraphs made me sit up, put the book down, and say, “blimey, that’s well-written. Wow.” One was uplifting. The other was chilling. In that regard, what I’m saying is that the rarity of the “X-factor” is also what makes me so intent on seeking it. In others’ writing. In my responses. In my own.
No antiques dealer would be in the business if every piece they looked at were a gem. The rarity of a good find, the mystery of a lovely piece of work. That’s what we’re all in it for. It’s something I’d like us all to bear in mind as we train the robots to replace us. The “X-factor” is rare enough amongst humans. It would be remarkable if a robot could reproduce it. After all, I’m talking about the point of being alive. Those are the stakes, for me. How about you?
