Why I Keep Talking About AI: A Reflection on Change, Memory, and Creation

My last couple of posts have touched on AI, and the truth is, so much has been happening in that space over the past month that my thoughts have been largely consumed by it.

I’ve built up a bit of a backlog of essays on the topic, and rather than trickling them out over time, I’ve decided to host an AI Week here on the blog — a focused series where I'll share my reflections as both a creator and a consumer of art navigating this changing landscape.

I've made a point to be transparent about my use of AI tools, and to state emphatically where I draw the line: I don’t let AI write my books.
The words in my books are mine. They do not contain AI-generated text.
The text in my books always originates with me, and I decide on the final version.

However, I do find AI to be an extremely useful tool when used ethically and honestly — particularly for brainstorming, research, analysis, editing, and organization — areas where AI can accelerate the creative process without encroaching on it.

I bounce ideas off of it like a beta reader; I consider suggestions from it like a proofreader or copy editor. (And, as I have said in other blog posts, I am more liberal with its use for things like this blog — but NEVER with my books.)

In these contexts, I feel strongly that AI does not compromise authorship any more than spell check, grammar check, or human editorial oversight.

I know there will be differences of opinion on the topic, and some creators may find my use of it too much for their comfort. But I find that discomfort often has a lot to do with fear and misunderstanding. If describing my process can contribute to the conversation around how AI can be used responsibly without compromising human creativity, I believe that's a valuable use of my time.

At the end of the week, I’ll also be sharing an announcement related to my books — one that ties into this ongoing discussion about creativity, technology, and staying human.

I hope you’ll come back each day this week for a new essay. And I hope you find them interesting, elucidating, and maybe even a little entertaining.

Thanks for reading — and welcome to AI Week.

In The Wake of Expectations, I tried to capture a world that’s already slipping into history — a world where human interaction wasn’t yet mediated by iPhones, social media, and the constant connectivity of the internet.
Not to argue that it was better.
Not to indulge in nostalgia for its own sake.
But simply to show what it was — and allow readers to see it side by side with the world they know now, and to decide for themselves what was lost, what was gained, and what might still matter.

That’s a through line not just in the novel, but in how I think about technology more broadly — and why, even as the author of a 1990s coming-of-age story, I keep finding myself talking about AI today.

It’s not a random diversion. It’s part of the same conversation.

The fracture between the generation I depict in Wake and today’s generation is largely technological.
It’s about the smartphone.
It’s about social media.
It’s about how the tools we use reshape how we interact, how we relate, how we understand ourselves and each other.

Twenty years from now, someone else may be writing a novel — or an essay — about how AI reshaped the ways we create, communicate, and connect.
They'll talk about what was lost.
They’ll try to capture what still might be found again.

That’s why I keep returning to these themes.
Because as a creator living through this transition, I’m grappling with it in real time.
And because I see the historical parallel:

• The internet changed how we gather information.

• The smartphone changed how we interact.

• AI will change how we create.

Once new technology arrives, the genie doesn’t go back into the bottle.
Trying to cling to the past in its entirety becomes a futile exercise.

But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to preserve.

The way we interacted before the iPhone — the depth, the slowness, the presence — still has value.
The creative spark that exists independently of any tool — the spark that wakes you up at night with an idea that demands to exist — still has value.

We can’t stop the future.
But we can carry forward what matters from the past.

That’s the real work.
That’s the thread that ties my reflections on social media, the internet, and AI back to the stories I’m telling.
And it’s why I’ll probably keep talking about these things as long as I’m lucky enough to keep creating.

Because what’s at stake isn’t just how we interact with machines.
It’s how we stay human while doing it.

Javier

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