Note to readers: This article contains content created by LLM ChatGPT. The story portion is the product of my prompt and ChatGPT’s response. The rest of the article is my unadulterated creation, thunk up out of my own brain. Please, contact me with questions related to this article or the series of articles.

It’s week five into my analysis of ChatGPT’s storytelling skills. I can’t say the adventure is getting more interesting. I’ve been working with AI story development tools on another story during the time between episodes. The endeavor has been just short of exhausting.

Comprehending the Large Language Model Artificial Intelligence… and its minions.

As I have mentioned before, I’ve been working on a program designed to teach me how to use AI chat bots to build a short story. You start by generating ideas with a chat bot, build a plot, create characters and settings, even get examples of character voices using the power of artificial intelligence. With all those pieces in place, you just pull everything together to write prose in your own personal style. This is an incredible idea with tons of potential to create stories at lightning speed and make massive amounts of money.

And then the dream ends with hours and hours of work behind you and no usable content to work with.

Last post, I suggested this process mimics receiving 500 boxes of random brilliance from Amazon. (One box contains leotards for a 17-year-Olympian.) Sort the lot until you find the five usable items, toss the rest onto your porch, and get busy reshaping the mess. Now you have a “starter kit” built out of repurposed materials. Use this to create your transcendent work of art that people will pay for and that prompts them to ask for more.

Originality is hard, no matter how you go about it. It remains to be seen how much chat bots can facilitate the development of a great read.

The prompt continues.

ChatGPT Presents “Shadows in the Smoke”

Scene Five

Harland had always prided himself on keeping his professional and personal lives separate. But with The Widow lurking in the shadows, that separation was beginning to blur. As he drove home that evening, the city lights flashing past his windows, he found himself rehearsing how he would talk to Eleanor. He needed to protect her, but how could he do that without telling her everything?

When he walked through the door, Eleanor was in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared dinner. The sight of her, so peaceful and untroubled, made his heart ache. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. But he also knew that keeping her in the dark wasn’t the answer.

“Hey, you’re home earlier than I expected,” Eleanor said with a warm smile as she turned to greet him.

“Yeah, had to wrap up a few things, but I’m here now,” Harland replied, forcing a smile in return. He walked over, planting a kiss on her forehead. “How was your day?”

“Good. The usual,” she said, studying his face for a moment. “You seem a bit off. Everything okay?”

Harland hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How could he tell her that a dangerous woman was out there, possibly planning to use their marriage as leverage against him? But then he remembered what Leo had said about The Widow—how she preyed on the cracks in relationships, how she exploited fear and doubt.

“Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he finally said, his voice low and serious.

Eleanor’s smile faded slightly as she set down the knife she’d been using to chop vegetables. “John, what is it?”

He took a deep breath, taking her hand and leading her to the small dining table. They sat down, and Harland looked into her eyes, trying to gauge how much he should reveal.

“I’ve taken on a new case,” he began. “It’s… complicated. And dangerous.”

Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “Dangerous how?”

“There’s a woman involved—someone who’s been manipulating people, powerful people, for a long time. She’s known as The Widow, and she’s… she’s not someone you want to cross. I’ve been hired to look into her, but I’m worried that she might try to turn her attention on us.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and concern flashing across her face. “Us? John, what do you mean?”

“She has a way of getting to people by going after the ones they care about,” Harland explained, his grip on her hand tightening. “That’s why I need to be upfront with you. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, nothing she can use to drive a wedge between us.”

Eleanor was silent for a moment, processing his words. “So you’re saying she might come after me? After us?”

“It’s possible,” Harland admitted. “But I’m not going to let that happen. I need you to trust me, Eleanor. Trust that I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”

Eleanor nodded slowly, her expression serious. “I trust you, John. But if this woman is as dangerous as you say, then we need to be smart about this. What can I do to help?”

Harland felt a swell of relief at her response. She wasn’t panicking; she wasn’t pulling away. Instead, she was ready to stand by his side, just as she always had.

“I need you to be careful,” Harland said, his tone firm. “If anything feels off—if you notice anything strange—you need to tell me right away. And I want you to avoid going out alone, at least until I know more about what we’re dealing with.”

Eleanor nodded again, her expression resolute. “I can do that. But, John, what about you? This woman sounds like she’s more than just a criminal. Are you sure you’re not in over your head?”

Harland smiled grimly. “Maybe I am. But I’ve dealt with dangerous people before. And I have something worth fighting for—us. That’s what’s going to keep me sharp, keep me focused.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Then Eleanor squeezed his hand, her voice soft but steady. “We’ll get through this, John. Together.”

Harland nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. He’d made a vow to protect Eleanor, and he wasn’t going to let anyone—especially not The Widow—come between them.

Over the next few days, Harland worked tirelessly to unravel The Widow’s web of secrets. He met with informants, pored over documents, and followed leads that took him into the darkest corners of the city. But all the while, he kept Eleanor close, sharing with her what he could and making sure she knew how much she meant to him.

He also began to notice subtle changes in their routine—little things that could be signs of The Widow’s influence. A phone call that was nothing but silence on the other end, a strange car parked down the street that seemed to appear and disappear at odd hours. Harland’s paranoia grew, but he fought to keep it in check, not wanting to alarm Eleanor unnecessarily.

One night, as they sat together on the couch, Harland finally brought up something that had been gnawing at him. “Eleanor, has anyone approached you recently? Anyone new in your life, maybe asking questions about me or our marriage?”

Eleanor looked thoughtful. “No, not really. Well, there was a woman at the market the other day. She seemed friendly enough, asked me about some recipes, but now that I think about it, she did seem a bit too interested in my personal life. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

Harland’s heart skipped a beat. “Did she mention her name?”

Eleanor frowned, trying to remember. “She said her name was… Susan, I think. But it could have been anything, really. She didn’t stay long.”

Harland felt a knot form in his stomach. It could have been nothing—or it could have been The Widow, testing the waters, trying to find a way in. “If she approaches you again, or if anyone else does, let me know immediately.”

Eleanor nodded, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “I will, John. I promise.”

Harland leaned back, trying to suppress the rising tide of anxiety. He was playing a dangerous game, and The Widow was a formidable opponent. But he had an advantage—he wasn’t just fighting for himself. He was fighting for Eleanor, for their marriage, for the life they had built together.

And he wasn’t about to let anyone take that away.

As he drifted off to sleep that night, with Eleanor resting beside him, Harland vowed that he would find The Widow and stop her before she could do any more damage. But deep down, he knew that the battle wouldn’t just be fought in the streets—it would be fought in the quiet moments, in the trust between him and Eleanor, in the strength of their bond.

He would need every ounce of that strength in the days to come.

What did we learn about ChatGPT’s ability to tell a strong tale?

This scene section starts out pretty standard. Nothing profound in the prose or storyline. Soon, we return to the mysterious Widow, alleged master criminal that lives in the shadows. Minus any real evidence, as everything Harland knows about The Widow up to this point came from ghost stories told over a beer, and a photograph provided by a suspicious spouse, Harland dives in buck naked as he describes her to his wife. Aw, the power of a good telling.

Based on this unsubstantiated speculation, Harland follows up with a firm promise to Eleanor that he is “not going to let [badness] happen” to her. It becomes comical as an exercise in gallantry, like he’s saying, “Though I know nothing at all about the threat, and cannot find a single, solid lead regarding this nefarious creature, or even a few specifics about her motives and methods, I vow to protect you from any attack she precipitates against you.” The only possible way Harland could fulfill such a promise, as far as I can see, is to lock Eleanor in a secret room in their basement, and refuse anyone contact with her—for example, the mailman, the plumber, the next-door neighbor, the kid who delivers the paper. With so little intel, it is impossible to identify who or what is a threat. Harland’s claim foils the concept of keeping Eleanor safe, and that it has the power to “keep [him] sharp… focused.” 

For the sake of the narrative, Eleanor is free to roam about the land, utterly exposed to any and every threat, while Harland “worked tirelessly to unravel The Widow’s web of secrets.” We, the reader, are not privy to the evidence he uncovers, or the strategies he employs to pull together a definitive threat. In fact, it is Harland’s paranoia that inspires him to question his wife about interlopers. The agitation caused by simply asking his beloved about encounters with a woman at the grocery becomes the literary tool used to create suspense. Another example of this would be akin to Harland asking with intensity, “But honey, tell me, if you can recall, what type of bread did she have in her cart? Was it white bread? Or wheat? This could be very important. Really try to remember.” Without context, this sounds ridiculous.

ChatGPT relies heavily on implication in this story. If I say you should be worried, then you should be worried. This is a subtle form of telling the reader what to feel instead of revealing an experience they can vicariously take part in. It lacks the power of immersion, and makes one ask the bigger question, Where did ChatGPT find the data to scrape?