When Bob Dylan plugged in an electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965, part of the crowd booed him. A year later, at a concert in England, somebody yelled “Judas!” from the audience. Real folk music was acoustic. Everybody knew that. The amplifier was a betrayal, and the people booing were sure they were defending something sacred.
Nobody remembers their names. Everybody remembers the songs.
Writing groups are booing the electric guitar right now, and they’re doing it with a level of nastiness that makes that crowd at Newport look polite. The latest target is a writer who told the truth about his sales. What happened to him next is a textbook case of what I call AI Derangement Syndrome: the point where AI stops being one fact about a book and becomes the only fact anyone can see.
What happened when a writer admitted AI helped
He posted in a big creative writing group on Facebook. He’d written several books on his own, and he was proud of them. Then someone asked him to write a series on a niche nonfiction subject he knew something about but not a lot. He wrote three books under a pen name with AI assistance, and to his surprise they sold better than his own work.
His point was small and mild: people keep saying nobody buys AI books, and in his case, they did. He even said he didn’t plan to do much more with AI, because he enjoys the writing.
Then the thread exploded. “If AI wrote the books for you, then you’re not an author.” Another commenter told him he lacked ethics, wasn’t a real writer, and had just proven he was never a good one. Someone called him a plagiarizer and told him to keep eating at the trough. Plagiarized from whom? One person wondered why people like him don’t go join AI groups instead of “annoying the real writers.” And one commenter wrote, flat out, “Your name will now be spread offline.”
Read that last one again.
A stranger threatened to go after a man’s name in the real world because he used a piece of software to help write a book about nightlife. Who appointed that person the sheriff of authorship?
He didn’t help himself, either.
He called one critic a person of low intelligence and a fool. Insulting a stranger’s intelligence is a rotten thing to do whatever side you’re on, and he deserved some of the heat for that. But he wasn’t the one who started a fight over a sales report, and he wasn’t the one threatening anybody.
Are you a real author if AI helped write your book?
Yes, if the book is yours.
An author is the person who decides what the book is about, what it says, what goes in and what comes out, and who stands behind every page once it’s published. The tools don’t change that. They never have.
The same crowd has been redrawing this line for as long as I’ve been writing. One commenter in that thread nailed it with a list that should be framed. If you self-publish, you’re not a real writer. If you have a ghostwriter, you’re not a real writer. If you collaborate with a friend, you’re not a real writer. You’re not real until you’re traditionally published. You’re not real if you haven’t written under a full moon. Blah blah blah.
That list is a joke, and every line on it was a serious accusation once. Self-publishing was “vanity press” garbage until it became how a huge share of working authors make a living. Word processors were going to ruin prose. Spell check was cheating. Who handed these people the rulebook? Every new tool gets the same treatment, and the people swinging the hammer always think they’re the first to defend literature.
I take the ghostwriter line personally, because I’ve ghostwritten 54+ books. Every one of those clients is the author of their book. They brought the story, the expertise, the decisions and the name on the cover, and they carry the responsibility for it. I did the typing, along with a great deal of the shaping.
Nobody in publishing seriously argues that a CEO with a ghostwriter didn’t author her own memoir. The writing groups that want to strip authorship from AI users would have to strip it from half the business books and celebrity memoirs on the shelf, too. They won’t, because those people have publicists.
Every tool that ever helped a writer was called cheating by somebody. The books outlived the complaints. – Richard LoweShare on X
Do AI-assisted books sell?
Some do, some don’t, same as every other kind of book. The “nobody buys AI slop” line is a slogan. Readers buy books that give them what they came for. If a book on a niche subject answers the reader’s questions in clear language, the reader doesn’t care what software sat on the author’s desk. Most readers will never know. Would they care if they did? The ones who say they’d refuse on principle can’t reliably tell.
I know an AI specialist who published a book straight out of ChatGPT, unedited. It got positive reviews and did exactly what he wanted it to do. I also see the other side all the time: people who let AI do all the work bring me books that came out absolute crap, and they want them fixed. That’s become a big part of my market.
Both of those things are true at once, and neither one is about the tool.
A lazy book is a lazy book whether it came from a machine or from a person who couldn’t be bothered. A good book is a good book. I’m sick of hearing the tool blamed for the writer. The reader is the only judge that counts, and the reader votes with money.
Is it unethical to use AI to write a book?
Using a tool isn’t an ethics violation. Lying about it is a different matter, and it depends on what you lied about and to whom. Amazon’s KDP asks authors to disclose AI-generated text, images and translations when they publish, though AI-assisted work, where you wrote it and used AI to edit or brainstorm, doesn’t need disclosure. That disclosure goes to Amazon. It isn’t printed on the book page.
Copyright adds another wrinkle. The U.S. Copyright Office protects human authorship, and material generated entirely by AI without meaningful human creative control can’t be registered. A writer who shapes, selects, arranges and rewrites is in a far stronger position than one who pastes in a single prompt’s output. I went through the details in AI copyright for writers, and the “you’re a thief” accusation gets its own piece in is writing with AI theft.
Using a pen name for an off-brand subject isn’t a moral failing either. Authors have done it for centuries, and I’ve done it myself.
So where’s the ethics violation in that thread?
He wrote three books with help, published them under a pen name, and sold them to readers who wanted them. The only unethical act in that comment section was a stranger threatening to go after his name offline.
Why do writing groups turn on AI users so hard?
Fear drives a lot of it. Writers are watching a tool do in seconds what took them years to learn, and they’re scared about money, about craft, about whether their work will still matter. Some of them are also angry that their books were used to train these models without permission. That anger has a real basis. I don’t dismiss any of that. Why writers care is laid out fairly in a thread full of their answers.
Does being scared give anyone the right to threaten a stranger? None of it justifies what happened to that man. Fear explains the mood. It doesn’t excuse telling a stranger he has no ethics and was never any good, and it certainly doesn’t excuse a threat. A threat like that is cruelty with a cause stapled to it.
I don’t join writing groups anymore, on Facebook, Reddit or anywhere else, because they’ve always been extraordinarily hostile, about AI and everything else. I’ve been told to go read the FAQ and asked why I ask such stupid questions over the smallest things. Mention that you use AI and the pack shows up within minutes. The anti-AI crowd is just the newest of the writing world’s anti-crowds. Before AI it was self-publishing, and before that it was something else.
The vitriol shocked me when I first saw it. I’ve rarely seen writers fight this hard over anything, and the worst of it comes from people who’d call themselves kind.
What I’d tell a writer who used AI and got jumped
Don’t argue. What would it get you? Nobody in a pile-on is listening, and every reply you make feeds it. Calling them names, the way that writer did, hands them the moral high ground they hadn’t earned.
Know your own process well enough to explain it in one sentence if a reader ever asks. Follow the platform’s disclosure rules. Keep your drafts and notes, because they show the human work if your copyright is ever questioned. Then go write the next book.
I use AI every day as a digital assistant, like a virtual assistant that happens to be software. It handles transcripts, summaries and first-pass outlines I can argue with, and I still do the writing. The most wrong advice in the writing world right now is “don’t use AI.” A writer who uses it well can probably get books out four or five times faster, and refusing on principle is a competitive disadvantage.
But that’s my choice. If you’d rather write every word by hand, by candlelight, under a full moon, good for you, and I mean that.
It’s a tool. Use it or don’t. Let readers decide what they want to buy, and keep your hands off other people’s names.
The folk purists who booed Dylan thought they were protecting music. They were protecting a rule about which instrument counted, and the music walked right past them.
The writers booing AI today are going to look the same way in twenty years, and the books will still be on the shelf. For more on how writers are using these tools, see the AI and Writing Hub, and if you want help using AI in your own writing without losing your voice, look at my AI services. My book The Ghostwriting Advantage covers the oldest form of writing help there is.
