What To Do When a Futuristic Writer Lives in a World that Futures Away Writing

This is not a test. This is not an excerpt of my science fiction novel. Robots are trying to steal my job!

Ok I read this really well-rendered article. Deeply appreciate the digital art, design and the funky artificial intelligence experiment at the end. But the gist is, AI is messing with my money.

I’m not exaggerating or being unnecessarily alarmist; the world of AI has really jolted my 2023 experience even though artificial intelligence has been here and around for some time. I’m sure in some ways I’ve benefitted from AI in other contexts but this one rubs me sideways. There are a lot other voices unpacking how specific AI programs now have the robust ability to do copywriting, editing, and even writing paragraphs of novels, and writers, readers, and corporations are hopping on board. 

This is what I get for being a robot-forward Afrofuturist.

One friend said to me, who actually recommended when I was struggling to write a grant to us one of these AI platforms “A bot still sounds like a bot”. Which was not entirely reassuring. They said you have to go in and “colour” the text but the AI does the heavy lifting. And true, I don’t adore writing grant applications but I have also been a jury member who appreciates applications with heart, like a beating heart, like written by a flesh bag with a beating heart.

Breathe Frenchie, breathe!

But what happens when the AI is so smart that a bot doesn’t sound like a bot? What happens to humans like me, deeply devoted to the written word, to the sacredness of storytelling, to the intricacies of narratives and the beauty of books— what happens when we comes up again a system that can write faster than us, for no pay and with some updates maybe even make it sound like a person?

My existential needle is in the red zone. 

I want to be more nuanced. Have something clever to say about disability justice and how this type of thing could support people for whom writing isn’t their strong suit for so many reasons and this could offer equity to those with limited literacy in a world where paperwork and writing skills can determine much of your fate (job applications, resumes, government documentations, work emails, etc.). I’m not nuanced. I’m panicked! To be clear, this isn’t just a spell-check system. My other more techy friend told me for AI to work it needs data. It needs to learn. And much like the anxiety and outright rage from the visual arts community who have seen their work being scanned, gathered, repurposed, and spit out to generate AI artworks WITHOUT compensating artists who’ve devoted their entire lives to the craft, I for one am very very disturbed.

Am I overreacting?

Will Whitney French Writes soon be Whitney French’s AI Writes for her? Will there be a new niche market for publishing houses to only have their work edited by human hands and be my lucrative way out of this hell hole? Will the new generation of the literary canon be 90% AI-generating and have a massive impact on how human culture survives for years to come? Have I been doom-scrolling too much? Was Orwell right?

I’m going to go take a nap and read my very old, very nice-smelling paper books now. In the meanwhile feel free to pray for my field.

Frenchie loves you

Asking Little Whitney to Help with Recovery

Please note that this is an excerpt from my full Whitney French Writes newsletter. You can subscribe to my monthly newsletter HERE to receive these messages directly in your inbox.

So where do I begin? June 22nd me and the magnificent Alannah Johnson launched the only Black Queer Feminist press in Canada, Hush Harbour. Then, less than week later, I disappeared on social media for my own protection and mental health. Shortly afterward I got super sick and things were pretty unbearable.

This new paradigm has impacted so many people on so many different levels and Frenchie is far from immune from that impact. My health felt very precarious, my integrity was under attack and my support systems although present we're being push to their limits. And perhaps you've been in a low place and you've denied how very hard it is. "I'm good" because you have your coping mechanisms or "I'm good" because you have a source of income and a roof over your head or "I'm good" because you feel privileged in many ways but ultimately, no matter how many times you say it, homie, you're not good. 

That was me. That was me from July 1st until end of August. Falling apart without admitting to that pain that comes with it. When I was afraid, and carrying the weight of fronting like I wasn't made the recovery process that much more strained. It felt empty, completely hollowed out.

Some cherries that I picked at the park just around the corner from my house.

I wasn't eating, or sleeping, the heat got to me. Other friends who I thought I could trust, I couldn't and I was fully armoured up. All the energy I wanted to put into exciting projects and good people was depleted. I asked anyone who could hold space for me to grant me extra protection. The sounds of pain that came out of my body was unrecognizable.

For many weeks, I didn't know how to function.

Eventually, I recovered but I stayed offline. The things that kept me nourished: my beautiful family, remarkable friends and the joy of growing.

My newsletter has more and more of my farming adventures than my literary adventures these days sand honestly, the time spent with the land, listening to plants, growing my own food and sharing it with loved ones, got me out of one of the hardest slumps of my life. 

I wasn't sure if I was going to recover. But the plants, knew. The trees knew. I knew they knew, but it took some time trusting in their knowledge.

Ceremonies, silences, fresh air, my intuition, good good deep bass music. These things were my balm. My parasynthetic system was finally having space to tell my body to relax. 

Small miracles meant so much.

The thing about recovery is that it isn’t linear. The thing about doing something big and sharing success is that haters follow shortly afterward. They come hard and vicious and the feelings of insecurities can be paralyzing.

As we switch into a new season, my favourite season, a season of harvest I feel so much stronger surviving the summer. I suspect others have had unbelievably difficult summers too. And if you need someone to say that's ok to not be ok, Frenchie can be that for you.

I grew many years in these few months. I will continue to grow alongside the earth-bound miracles around me. And haters have not left me. They still linger in the wings, they will continue to press into me. But I am stronger now. I am purpose-driven. I am aware that I am flawed and make mistakes but I am also reflective and humble and gaining strength because of it.

So here's to an autumn of flourish, an autumn of seed-saving and lesson-saving. An autumn of warm sweaters and warm stories from loved ones. I had to leave y'all to return back to self. But I mean it sincerely, I'm glad your here. On this journey. Holding space for all parts of me. Including my childlike self…

Little Whitney, with her fly-ass self by the water. Even seagulls admire her swag!

I've been doing a lot of inner child work during this quarantine. And I am absolutely in love with Little Whitney. I talk to her a bunch, I hug her and tell her that she is strong, beautiful, brilliant and special. I thank you for being her full free and liberated self. I remind her of her wisdom that has literally saved Adult Whitney's life. She reminds me to honour my growing, that it is at my own time and pace. She reminds me not to let anyone get in the way of my own growing, ever. 

It's hard being in this state of uncertainty; of sitting with myself and reflecting on the deeper parts of me. A lot of emotions are coming to the surface. Ones I can no longer hide from. Ones that need to be shed. Ones that no longer serve me. Ones that are begging for attention and care. And it has been a wild ride.

My emotions are informing my creative work whether I want them to or not. I'm still a bit raw from all these new learnings but I am grateful and grieving, (as mentioned in the last newsletter) how my creative expressions are helping me cope and how some of my coping mechanisms are failing me. It's ok. I don't have the answers. I don't have a cute Instagram poster about how to survive this time. But I do have this photo of Little Whitney. I have her energy, her spirit, her resilience and her badassery. She'll help me get through, one day at a time.  

Sending big love, health, strength and understanding to every single one of you who sent beautiful responses to my newsletter last month. Thanks to those who ride with me, who root for me, who nourish Little Whitney

Frenchie loves you, always.

Until next time,

Grieving on my Birthday

Me, in my house, spending time with my uncle on his birthday, April 6th. A simple ceremony.

Please note that this is an excerpt from my full Whitney French Writes newsletter. You can subscribe to my monthly newsletter HERE to receive these messages directly in your inbox.

I'm writing this on my birthday eve. I love being an Aries, I love my fiery season. I usually love spending my birthdays in solitude going on a long nature hike at some national/local park and contemplating what was shifted for me in the year.

Obviously, my birthday looks and feels very different than I imagined it. It sounds silly to be "grieving" this special birthday ritual (the park I usually visit is closed) but I had a really profound conversation with a close friend of mine, who mentioned that right now there are so many intensified emotions, yet very little space for grief.

I spent some time with my uncle last week. He passed away in 2016 and he was an Aries too. I think we on a global scale are grieving a lot of things: people, rituals, jobs (I was laid off from my editorial position at Dundurn), physical touch, simple pleasures, financial security, and personal comforts.

It's ok to be grieving. It's ok to not be ok. We shouldn't feel guilty about this truth. The realization that keeps coming back to me is this concept of waves. Waves of productivity, waves of deep sadness. Waves of staring at my toes, waves of FOMO. I put off writing this newsletter because 'it has already all been said', but just in case someone hasn't told you...

It's ok to grieve right now. 

If the people in your networks are expecting positivity from you all the time, or perhaps you are holding space for them and forgetting to make room for yourself — know that you can share your grief with me.

Actually! Please share things you miss, small losses, griefs big or small, significant or insignificant via email here, if that helps you release it. This is not to dwell on the negative; grieving is actually deeply healing and important for us as humans to understand ourselves. I'll be listening to every email. I'll reply to every response. I can hold gratitude and grief in the same heart. 

Sending big love, health, strength and understanding to every single one of you who've read all the way through. Frenchie loves you, always.

Until next time,

Stretching my Vulnerability + Biomimicry for Dummies

A prototype made from organic materials, substrate and mycelium (the fibers growing underneath mushrooms) created from a 3D printer. Created by Tosca Tehan

Please note that this is an excerpt from my full Whitney French Writes newsletter. You can subscribe to my monthly newsletter HERE to receive these messages directly in your inbox.

I want to do things that I've never done before.

For a number of years, as many of y'all know, I have invested a lot of time and energy and excitement into my writing practice. I have conducted workshops and readings and performances that are meant to help others within the community actualize their truest potential.

My energy lately has been on not only the truest potential of those in my community, but on my own personal potential. What are interesting and challenging things can I pursue to allow me to grow as a person, even if they're challenging or scary? I've been actively trying new things and walking into spaces that fascinated me from afar but I didn't think I had enough knowledge or access to. 

I've been stretching my vulnerability. I'm terrified and addicted to trying new things. I registered for a bio-mycellium workshop just because I think mushrooms (all living plants and species really) have many answers to the questions for the times we're living in. I know there's a unique relationship between human and non-human beings that are often unacknowledged. Although I am drawn to writing science fiction, there's so much magic in discovering connections in the real world too.

This curiosity keeps me sharp. Keeps me asking questions about my practice, my craft, my relationship with humans and other beings I share the planet with. The moment I stop being curious is when depression and anxiety set in. Options feel closed off and I'm left wondering what is the point of even doing all these projects? 

So from one curious mind to the other, what fascinates you lately? What keeps you sharp? It doesn't have to be a biological find, it could be a song, a moment that moves you, a new understanding that may have been with you all along.

As I'm pushing myself further to do new things, I've also been talking (since the October/November 2019 newsletter truthfully) on changing the shape of this newsletter. 

So I turn to you, faithful reader for a quick questionnaire. Don't work, not fancy poll or external link required. All you have to do is hit reply with a number (1-6) on any or all of the things you'd like to see more of in the newsletter. If you've read all the way to the end, then I know you're committed. Options are:

(1) my writing (poems, short stories, articles etc.)

(2) events and announcements

(3) what books I am reading

(4) special offers on upcoming workshops

(5) highlight on people in community I admire

(6) personal stories

Let me know what you want to see more of. Let me know how you're inviting more curiosity into your life. I take your feedback gracefully so you can enjoy our moments more...

Until next time, 

Wrestling Just to Rest

Please note that this is an excerpt from my full Whitney French Writes newsletter. You can read the full newsletter HERE or subscribe to my monthly newsletter HERE to receive these messages directly in your inbox.

Overlooking the lake from the back of my housing unit in Mistissini

There are a lot of people talking about this "2020 Energy" and are coming in hard and fast into this new year, indeed, this new decade. And then there's me. For those who've been following the newsletter for most of 2019, pretty much each month or so, I was not at home. Last year alone I travelled to over 15 cities, 8 outside of the province of Ontario and many more in remote communities. I have no "2020 Energy", just "Take Naps in 2020 Energy" and I don't feel no ways about it.

In truth, I am extremely proud of my accomplishments (namely my book, next newsletter I'll share how I plan to celebrate my book-a-versary) but I am also excited for a more reflective year, and less of a 'productive' year. Seems counterintuitive to say this to an audience who subscribe to see 'what are you doing these days', but my biggest hope is to come back to me, and longer than just a few months too.

Playing mirror games with students and my co-facilitator Cheyenne Scott in Mistissini

As always I am so invested in the community of folks who read these newsletters all the way to the end. How is 2020 shaping up for you? Are you pumped? Is this your manifest year? Or are you feeling nervous and pressured by the 'New Year, New Decade' ethos? 

Is it the season to start up new projects and adventures on your end, or is it a time to hibernate and listen to yourself? Or maybe somewhere in between? Honestly, your responses to these newsletters give me so much life and are the reason I've been able to keep them going for almost eight years and counting.

I'm chillin', so looking forward to reading your personal revelations. Until next time, stay warm, take naps, and see you soon.

Yours always,