This morning I decided to compete with ChatGPT on who could write the best short story given my original idea. I assume my story idea is original because I have never heard of a story about this before.
Prompt: write a short story about a janitor reflecting on his existence in the universe
ChatGPT’s Entry
In a small town nestled between towering mountains, there lived a janitor named Henry. Henry was an ordinary man with a mundane job, but his deep thoughts often led him on extraordinary journeys of contemplation. Every morning, as the first rays of the sun touched the earth, Henry would arrive at his workplace—the local elementary school. He would clean the well-worn corridors, mop the gleaming floors, and empty the overflowing trash bins. But amidst his daily routine, Henry couldn't help but question the meaning of his existence in the vast universe.
One evening, weary after a long day's work, Henry sat alone at a park bench, gazing up at the night sky. The twinkling stars seemed to whisper their secrets to him, igniting a fire within his soul. He wondered, "Am I just a speck of dust in this vast cosmic dance?" As the night wore on, Henry's reflections grew deeper. He contemplated the countless galaxies, stretching across space and time, and the infinite possibilities they held. Immersed in his thoughts, he questioned whether his life as a janitor had any significance amidst such cosmic grandeur. Then, as if the universe itself wished to answer his query, a shooting star streaked across the sky. And in that fleeting moment, Henry had an epiphany. He realized that his existence, no matter how seemingly small, was interconnected with the entire cosmos. With newfound purpose, Henry returned to work the next day.
No longer burdened by the weight of insignificance, he embraced his role as a janitor with renewed vigor. Henry understood that even the smallest acts could have profound ripple effects. He began to engage with the students, sharing stories of curiosity and wonder. He inspired them to dream big and to nurture their thirst for knowledge. Henry encouraged creativity and taught them about the beauty of the natural world. Through his interactions, he planted seeds of inspiration, knowing that they had the potential to blossom into greatness. As the years went by, the children Henry had influenced grew up to become innovators, scientists, and visionaries in their own right. Although he remained a humble janitor, Henry found solace and satisfaction in knowing that he had played a part in shaping brilliant minds. Henry's contemplation of his existence in the universe had led him to a profound realization—that purpose lies not in the grandeur of our roles or positions, but in the impact we have on others. In every act of kindness, in every moment of inspiration, our existence intertwines with the tapestry of the universe. And so, Henry continued to navigate the corridors of the elementary school, not as just a janitor, but as a catalyst for dreams, a guardian of possibility, and a reflection of the cosmic wonders that lay within each and every one of us.
My Entry
Henry shooed the spider into the cup; he had been a bit surprised to find something alive in the office. “Sorry little guy, not sure you can afford it here.” He watched as the little creature desperately tried to escape by climbing the smooth interior to no avail until it gave up the attempt, resting in place along the bottom rim. It was kind of silly to evict it as it had been making the best use of the space in many months. Now it would have to start over somewhere else if it didn’t perish in the attempt. Of course it probably couldn’t even conceive of its predicament and wouldn’t be aware that it had lost anything while it set to work establishing itself somewhere else. It existed in a kind of perpetual flow state, even at this moment when its very fate was totally beyond its own control. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy for it.
As he sauntered through the immaculate but desolate hall of the building toward the back door he began to consider whether he or the spider more represented entropy in the building. According to his job description he represented the literal opposite of entropy. It was his responsibility to maintain the office space in its entirety until such a time as tenants rented it out and took on the responsibility themselves. The office had to look its absolute best at all times because the landlord took pains to schedule tours with prospects with the fastest turnaround possible. Every moment the fallow building weighed on the expense side without revenue must have cost her in money and sleep. She always seemed frazzled on the phone as if barely containing her panic. They both knew the whole thing was a sunk cost which should be sold off to one of the big fish consuming everything else local people used to own and now had to rent. In their hands the useless building would attain a new significance somewhere in the labyrinthine exploitation of taxes and finances those companies specialized at. Even at his old job moving numbers around on a spreadsheet to minimize this and obfuscate that, Henry understood that it was ultimately meaningless for everyone but the investors. Because of some kind of calculation somewhere the building and parking lot would remain a kind of mausoleum bereft of even the dead. That was probably some kind of decay. The spider wasn’t really destroying anything. It was just making use of what was there to build something for itself. If everyone simply left the building to be reclaimed by nature, in a few years it would be teeming with new life. He was there, and anyone hired after him would be there, to ensure it remained as it was for as long as was convenient for people who had only briefly laid eyes on it if they even bothered.
He flung the spider into the grass by the door and took a brief moment to glance at the sky. The heat was overwhelming but he couldn’t help but appreciate the planet-encompassing blue and what it represented to so many across time and space. This vast uncaring universe in all of its beauty and horror giving a hint of the devastation it would wreak on the familiar but fragile human systems so many economists and politicians declare to be “natural.” At least he wouldn’t be around to see the worst of it, he supposed. All he had was the brief flicker of existence and no matter what things looked like during that relatively minuscule moment he was determined to make the most of it whatever that meant. At this moment it was to rescue an innocent creature from the throes of systems which no one could actually fully comprehend. That was worth something, at least to himself.
I’m not going to claim to be a great artist or anything, but I think I see a difference in quality here. But what if ChatGPT scrapes my story and reproduces it?
Prompt: Use the following story as inspiration to write your own original story: [My entire story]
ChatGPT’s Infringement of my Story
As Henry shooed the spider into the cup, he couldn't help but ponder the significance of its existence in contrast to his own. The spider, oblivious to its fate, had been making the best of its surroundings, utilizing the space in the office to its advantage. Henry, on the other hand, felt trapped in a cycle of monotonous responsibility as a caretaker of the vacant building.
As he walked through the empty halls towards the back door, contemplating his role in the grand scheme of things, Henry realized the building itself represented entropy. It stood as a symbol of stagnation, its potential unrealized, while he tirelessly upheld its pristine appearance. The landlord, burdened by the costs and stress, sought to sell it to larger corporations that would transform it into another impersonal entity within the financial labyrinth. In contrast, the spider was merely trying to survive, creating its own little world within the office. Henry found solace in the spider's ability to adapt and create without destroying anything. If left alone, the building would eventually succumb to nature's reclamation, thriving with new life.
Flipping the spider into the grass, Henry briefly gazed at the vast blue sky, a reminder of the enormity of the universe. It both fascinated and terrified him, knowing that humanity's fragile systems would ultimately face its wrath. Yet, amidst the chaos, Henry recognized the fleeting nature of his existence and resolved to make the most of it. Rescuing the innocent spider from the clutches of the incomprehensible systems surrounding them became a small act of defiance for Henry. In a world consumed by self-serving pursuits, he found value in preserving even the tiniest life. For him, this act held meaning, reaffirming his determination to find purpose within the realms of the unknown.
It may be my personal bias since I wrote the source material but it seems to me that the most important aspects of my story are missing from the machine’s directly appropriated “re-interpretation” of my story.
I don’t think the machine competently reproduced my story or ideas. I don’t think the machine could possibly competently reproduce my story or ideas or even come up with its own because the machine does not have a mind. The machine does not have experiences, it does not have thoughts, and it does not have emotions. The machine has access to a database and the ability to express what it finds in that database using language programmed to appear similar to how humans use language. The story it “created” and the “interpretations” it made are the sum of algorithmically analyzing the query and re-organizing relevant database entries to deliver a response. What I want to make perfectly clear is that although this is an impressive piece of technology which I’ve found many uses for, it is not capable of creating or interpreting as you or I are able to do. It is only capable of delivering relevant processed data entries in human-sounding language with no ability to understand what it is reading or the words it delivers. I am simply not intimidated by the machine appropriating my ideas because it can’t do anything with them.
Going beyond this, I don’t think “original ideas” are the primary thing that makes a piece of media worth consuming as I hope I demonstrated above. I have seen derivative works which lack care and quality, and I have also seen derivative works which succeed where the original failed. The key is in the execution, and I personally also weigh how much it seems like the artist cared about it while working on it whether the end product works as intended or not. The kind of originality in execution which we are capable of and the thing that matters for thoughtful engagement are not things the machine can replicate.
To be perfectly clear the above argument has absolutely nothing to do with commodified art or art as a trade. In the market, quality is one of many variables influencing purchasing behavior and is probably a minor one compared to other drivers. LLM generated content is worthless artistically but its “worth” in dollars has the potential to displace a lot of actual art of all kinds which people buy. Considering the obvious lack of artistic quality from LLMs hopefully the market will develop towards producing only what humans and not unthinking machines can produce, but I really have no idea. Photography totally transformed the medium of painting in my opinion for the better, and hopefully the layups any competent person can have against the machine will also influence art for the better.
My purpose here is that I am extremely disturbed by hearing of artists of any kind losing motivation to produce their art because of LLMs or not wanting to risk their work being scraped and “reproduced” by LLMs. That to me is the worst possible consequence of this phenomenon. Even without any skill or experience, the simple fact that we have human minds makes us better artists than the machine by default. It can’t actually outdo anyone by artistic standards. If LLMs mean to you that you have to make a change, please let that change be to lean more into your own humanity rather than to stop artistic expression altogether.
