Meet our Human Writer

 

The Last Human Entry:

As a writer, I’ve always been naturally quiet. That’s generally how “we” are. Writers, that is. Well, human writers. The AI robot writers have their own brand of quiet, but theirs feels like a void. A black hole of sound so dampened that the word “silent” echoes too loudly in your own mind when describing them.

Anyway, you’d think that inherent quietness would keep us writers safe. Or at least give us an edge as we were picked off, one by one, all our writing too, stripped from the libraries, stores, web. But we, like many other creators, let our hubris win the race long before reality caught up to us. Outwitted by our own intelligence. And here we are, the last dregs of a once steaming creative cup. Painters, writers, musicians, woodworkers, all reduced to a single straggler here and there, clinging in our own way to what we once had, what we once were. And we are no longer safe.

Me? I’ve decided to abandon safety and instead spend my days pursuing the last reality I know. Holed up in my favorite place, once beautiful, now stripped and barren of any physical life. But luckily, it’s still full of what keeps my pulse steady: the writing of those I know to be human. With the AI robot’s new and crisp linguistics, I find my only solace to be where first editions crumble and the ink blurs from water damage. But I can find single pages with handwritten notes; words to pass the time and clear my mind.

Why didn’t I change? Why didn’t I try to switch jobs from writer to anything deemed acceptable in our new age? It is both the easiest and most complex question to answer. To choose a new job, a new path would mean protection from the AI robots (easy), but to change one’s nature when it is innate? Complex. I cannot stop being a writer the same way a bird cannot fill the hollowness of her bones. Unfortunately, the robots have been programmed as such, like felines, and cannot change their directive to make me, and my birdlike intuitions, less of their prey.

I cannot survive them much longer. So instead, I’ll spend my time recording my own writing and desperately soaking up that of those flesh-and-blood intellects who paved my way. Oscar Wilde, loquacious; Margaret Atwood, egalitarian; e.e. cummings, iconoclast; Ray Bradbury, ironic… Those writers who, like I always aspired to, broke the rules of language to create tangible expressions that you could feel on your mouth. Who whipped words into meanings that only brushed the definition of their wild spirits. I cling to their words (and write my own now), to quietly dissent our replacements. Our world has spent so long with machines that I only want to make an exit accompanied by the dusty remnants of the life these real writers had. I must depart with at least an imprint of what I know to be real. My own words sourced from a body that exists with a heart, a beating heart; ideas from a fleshy brain, greyish-pink and wrinkly; and feeling from a stomach that writhes and knots when needled with hunger, love, or regret.

So know, dear reader, whomever might discover this passage, that my spirit left lifted by joy found in the words of my peers. And know that I leave these words, my words, as a gift to anyone who may find them, for they are real, flawed, and, finally, humble.

- Jess

AI generated image 

 

Hi there. Human writer and proud contributor to the Vitrazza team here! Yes, my dystopian image of the extinction of writers flairs towards the dramatic, but it’s true that many of us creatives are struggling to fully embrace AI technology as a wholly positive addition to our culture. Me, and many of my peers, have honed our craft through some combination of college, grit, and tenure. We’ve put our work out there at the expense of our emotions. Rejection in our field is visceral and frequent. The development of a technology to do what we have sweat, cried, and labored over for years is frightening. But, with the partnership of companies like Vitrazza who embrace the benefits of both, I strongly feel that AI isn’t actually going to replace me and my peers, it’ll just require a reset to the ways we perform our craft itself.

My real human peer, who requests work from me, asked me to share a bit about myself to give you all a better idea of the human side of your favorite Glass Chair Mat company.

 

Meet the Writer

I’m Jess, a technically trained writer graduated from CU Denver with a Bachelor’s in English Writing. Yes, it’s a real degree and yes, my parents panicked for me. But here I am using it daily! I have a home in the Denver metro area that I share with my husband (also a creative), my dog Bagel, and my cat Corona (like the beer, not the pandemic). If you didn’t believe I’m not AI before, I hope my strangely named animals tipped the scales towards reality for you. I am passionate about the bridge that writing can gap, the way that we’ve used it throughout history to become closer as a species. It is my most sincere wish that the addition of AI only adds value to such things, as opposed to the opposite.

 

About the Humans of Vitrazza

Vitrazza knows, and actively implements, the values that the human touch brings to a company. Whether through writing, content creation, or their concierge-style, in-office, American customer service model, they know how to precisely blend human and machine to best operate their business. So check in on their TikTok, their website, and their office. Take some time to learn about their love of plants, meet the people who provide real, un-sponsored gift ideas. Vitrazza is made up of real people sharing real ideas and products. The only real robot is the refined machinery used to make the Glass Chair Mats you know and love (or are curious about and will love for your office!). Those are made through high-tech machinery free from the bind of human emotions… we think.

 

 

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