By Maryanna Gabriel
Sometimes people write to say they are walking the Camino and that my book inspired them. Letters like these are lovely to receive, and of course, I love it. This week when one came describing my writing and I was barrelling my way through phrases such as "profoundly human", "ache and release", "and allowing movement to become meaning" - huh? And then there was the "rain-soaked roads of France" (there weren't any). At the halfway mark of this gushing epistle, I stopped at the "emotional cartography of coming home to oneself" and "the true destination is inward" then backed up, my hackles rising.
"Snap out of it," I told myself. "This fan mail is AI written." The wash of praise immediately shriveled and dried. "The scam is coming. The con. The hit."
Yup.
Would I like to be part of her community and "resonate deeply" with those who find "solace in reflection" to say nothing of the "sacred ordinary of living and loss." Yeeeeeesh. Of course, she would promote me for a modest sum.
Okay, a time waster. I thanked her politely and moved on. Undetered, she wrote back, a veritable fount of flattery, which I can't be bothered to repeat. So I blocked her. The difference between artificial intelligence and that of humankind's is intuition. I'll be using mine, thanks. See ya later.
The movie offers were the same. I was sort of hooked there too, but a former professor kindly straightened me out. The same outfit had also tried with him. One has to be so careful. 📫