The Story Within

“Verba volant, scripta manent”

“Spoken words fly away, written words remain”

A few weekends ago I was one of a group of authors set up at a homey little library in a homey little town named Umatilla in Central Florida. It’s so homey that the library is open Saturday only mornings and everyone goes home at noon to start their family weekend. The book event was scheduled from 9:30 to 11:30 and the room stayed full beginning at 9:00 when the library opened.

There was a good mix of ages and the books offered something for everyone: A garlic cookbook with a free jar of garlicy pickle slices; a horror novel with a red and black color scheme; a gorgeous over-sized coffee table book with vivid photos and interviews from Vietnam; several tables of cute and informative children’s books. Our resident historian Richard Cronin was in attendance, as was Mike Cross, a historical actor who takes on the persona of the original Indiana Jones.

The Umatilla Library is housed just off the main street in the original 1915 train depot and includes an authentic train caboose painted orange (it had been on the site of Golden Gem Growers, of orange juice fame). About fourteen of us were set up in a spacious side room, which filled up quickly with bookish folk.

Curious book lovers would make their rounds, visiting each table and chatting with the authors. Sometimes they would buy a book straightaway, other times they would make several rounds before carefully choosing their purchases.  My assistant  Juels had our table set up with small swag, flowers, and a crystal candy dish filled with soft peppermints.

I noticed an elderly man, slightly stooped with black frame glasses, wearing a cardigan, and carrying a clipboard, making his way from table to table. When he got to mine, I saw that he had sheets of paper written in pencil that he held like they were something precious. He picked up Illegitimate, carefully read the back cover, and thumbed through the pages, noting the photos and mumbling huh a few times.

He held the clipboard toward me, the notebook paper filled with cursive writing;  line after line of prose, front and back. “I’m writing about my family. But I don’t know anything about computers and am looking for someone that can help with my story.” I paged through and asked if he was looking for editing work or for a ghostwriter? He seemed uncertain. He just knew he needed someone other than him. I got a sense of mild desperation, as he repeated his lack of technical skills and understanding.

I explained I was not able to help him at this time, but wished him luck and promised if I thought of someone who could, I would be glad to pass on his information. He handed me a black and white striped business card with his last name in cursive; George and Roseann (his wife?) in large print underneath. After thanking me multiple times he wandered off and soon he was gone. I got busy and didn’t notice who else he spoke to. I hope he found someone more helpful than me.

What is my point with this story?  I felt his frustration in feeling this great need to record “his” story (don’t we all have one?) and not having the skills he (feels he) needs to accomplish this. It’s obvious he understands the power and importance of words. As he walked away I felt his disappointment. I’m not quite there, but I too am starting to feel left behind when it comes to electronic wonders. Soon enough, the last pre-tech generation will be gone, and who knows what will have replaced what we all know now?

So, yes, I felt for George. And the phrase “the written word is eternal” popped into my brain, so of course I Googled the phrase and found these references:

German writer Cornelia Funke in her YA fantasy novel Inkspell, has the monk Balbulus speak on the lasting power of books vs. transient speech: “The spoken word is nothing; it hardly lasts longer than an insect. Only the written word is eternal.”

And by AE Saaman, the author of a book series on the Holocaust: “The spoken word is ephemeral, the written word eternal.”

We all have a story in us. Now I’m in a quandary: As an author, I am fearful of what AI will do to the publishing world, as editors sift through material to cull the AI chaff from the honestly written words. Last year almost 4.2 million books were published; out of those, 3.5 million were self-published. I predict a crazy upward leap is happening right now for next year’s stats.

But for George, who wants to create his story for family, AI may be the perfect answer to turn his ephemeral life into eternal written words. And why should he be denied that right? And yet…

 Allen Levi is the eighty-year-old writing phenomenon who wrote and self-published a book about a nice old man who made people feel good about themselves that is now a run-away best-seller: Theo of Golden. His journey to publishing success is amazing and enviable by those of us who know how rare that is. It also gives me hope that the written word, done right, serves a grand purpose, and no part of that should be “artificial.”  With AI comes loss of  authorial voice that is an author’s fingerprint.

I hope we don’t lose sight of that.

Photo by Vlad Patana on Unsplash