The moral hazard of AI (no, it’s not the apocalypse)

I just received a note that Narrative magazine’s Spring 2026 Story Contest is accepting entries. Narrative winners and finalists have won Pulitzer and Pushcart Prizes, as well as placement in high-profile anthologies. In addition to publishing emerging writers, the magazine says it reaches a worldwide audience of 325,000 readers. It’s good market for literary writers.

Unless you’re using artificial intelligence, or AI. Narrative’s contest guidelines end with a single sentence: “We do not accept work that includes machine-generated text.”

For authors and other creatives tempted to enhance their work with AI, the writing is on the wall: Using Large Language Models (LLM) like ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, CoPilot and others to research and critique your work is acceptable. Using those services to generate content is not. (We’ll talk about the use of AI in photography in a bit.)

Commercial publishing

Where do commercial publishing houses stand on the use of AI??

According to Microsoft’s CoPilot, Penguin Random House UK advises writers that AI is not a substitute for human imagination and that AI tools may be used selectively but with caution. PRH, which only accepts manuscripts through literary agents, offers no specific advice for authors on the use of LLMs on either its U.S. or UK sites.

At business and academic publisher Wiley, authors may only use AI technology as a companion to their writing process, not a replacement. “As always, authors must take full responsibility for the accuracy of all content, and verify that all claims, citations, references, and analyses are aligned with their expertise and research,” Wiley states on the AI guidelines page of its website.

Authors must also document their use of AI tools and “disclose the use of AI technologies when submitting their material to a Wiley-published journal.”

The Authors Guild offers a model clause for contracts between authors and publishers that discourages the use of machine-generated text in a work. “Author shall not be required to use generative AI or to work from AI-generated text. Author shall disclose to Publisher if any AI-generated text is included in the submitted manuscript, and may not include more than [a de minimis/5%] AI-generated text.”

Self-publishing

For independently published writers, Amazon—the world’s largest platform for self-published books—requires a disclosure for those who used AI to create their work. The company’s content guidelines for books released through its Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) arm offers this warning:

“We require you to inform us of AI-generated content (text, images, or translations) when you publish a new book or make edits to and republish an existing book through KDP. AI-generated images include cover and interior images and artwork. You are not required to disclose AI-assisted content. We distinguish between AI-generated and AI-assisted content as follows:

“AI-generated: We define AI-generated content as text, images, or translations created by an AI-based tool. If you used an AI-based tool to create the actual content (whether text, images, or translations), it is considered “AI-generated,” even if you applied substantial edits afterwards.

“AI-assisted: If you created the content yourself, and used AI-based tools to edit, refine, error-check, or otherwise improve that content (whether text or images), then it is considered “AI-assisted” and not “AI-generated.” Similarly, if you used an AI-based tool to brainstorm and generate ideas, but ultimately created the text or images yourself, this is also considered “AI-assisted” and not “AI-generated.” It is not necessary to inform us of the use of such tools or processes.”

Why does that matter? Because, according to wordsrated.com, Amazon releases more than 1.4 million self‑published books each year.

Photography

Photographers are also grappling with the use of AI, with organizations disqualifying from competition images that use generative AI. Contests run by the Florida Camera Club Council (FCCC) allow the use of AI to remove noise (what film photographers call grain) and other distractions from images but forbid the machine generation of images.

FCCC’s contest rules are simple: if you add something to an image you did not photograph, that photograph may not quality for competition.

“Every part of an image must be the maker’s own work,” FCCC says on its website. “Artificial Intelligence or Al cannot be used to add elements to an image that were not taken by the maker. Al functions such as denoising, healing, sharpening, expanding canvas are allowed, as long as Al generated objects, people, or other elements are not introduced into the image. Makers may be asked to submit original images prior to approval.”

Why does this matter? Because people expect an artform that began its life documenting reality to provide them with visual truth, and organizations like FCCC, which screen entries from some 50 independent camera clubs throughout the state, have become the gatekeepers of that tradition. FCCC is not alone. There are thousands of photography clubs operating in the United States, according to DuckDuckGo’s search assistant. Microsoft’s CoPilot puts the number at 700.

Moral hazard

The same ethical considerations apply to writing. Using AI tools for research is OK, as long as writers follow the traditional rules of authorship and disclose the source. Using those tools to create words and images from the ether is also acceptable, as long as we disclose that fact, although it does create a moral hazard where corporations take risks for which others—writers, photographers and other creatives whose work is appropriated to train these applications—pay the price.

We’ll let the bots have the next-to-last word.

“The benefits of AI tools for creatives are surprisingly broad and often transformative,” according to ChatGPT (prompt: what are the benefits to creatives of using AI tools?). “AI can offer prompts, variations, or even complete drafts that help kickstart human creativity. While AI is powerful, it’s not a replacement for human creativity.”

As long as we’re transparent.

Open circuit: no generative AI used to make this photo I took of a circuit board.

The mystery of the critique

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot often says the secret to his success as a detective is simple: “Order and method.” We writers could use a bit of that ourselves.

Elizabeth George, author of the Inspector Thomas Lynley mysteries, has two criteria for evaluating fiction: strengths and inconsistencies. In other words, what did the writer do right, and are there any inconsistencies in character, plot, setting, tone, or language.

At the risk of second-guessing the author of 28 books, many of which have made it to TV, I’d like to add one more metric to the list: clarity.

Why is clarity important? Because what’s in the author’s head doesn’t always make it onto the page. Finding the holes in our story is like using a single mirror to see the back of our heads. We need a second opinion.

What about George’s criteria? I believe they are essential to good critiquing. Simple, but not widely practiced.

Consistency means the characters behave in a manner that is congruent with the personalities we’ve created for them. The language and tone should do the same.

The idea of strengths is simple but its application is often misunderstood. If we focus on the good parts of a manuscript, the writer will, too; hopefully the better work will crowd out some of the lesser stuff. That runs counter to some people’s philosophy—I’ve been stopped after class by those who want to know why I encourage a tiny piece of good writing in a sea of struggle—but that’s the exception to the rule.

What should writers avoid when critiquing a manuscript? In her work of nonfiction, Write Away, George urges us to forget about our own tastes. After reading or hearing a piece, many writers will say they liked or disliked the writing, characters, language, or plot. A typical response from even the most educated is, “I couldn’t get into it.”

That kind of critique doesn’t give the writer enough detail to improve, and might discourage an emerging talent. As George points out, it’s not our story. We’re not there to rewrite the work but to call out the strengths and flag the confusion. Did the writer mean to change point of view in mid-chapter? Is she experimenting with time by switching tense in mid-sentence? Those inconsistencies are concrete, measurable, and susceptible to improvement.

All of this boils down to a single question: are we critiquing the construction of the work or the content? If we develop a system that relies on order and method, we’ll know. And so will the reader.

 

A book by any other name . . .

Allusion Books logoThe U.S. Patent and Trademark Office has approved the registered mark of my publishing company, Allusion Books. Right now I’m only publishing books that I write, such as Peak Season, Riding with the Blues and a new crime series, Mr. Mayhem, due at the end of November.

The examining attorney for the USPTO did have to amend the identification of goods and services in my application to state that no claim is made to the exclusive right to use the word “books” apart from the mark as shown.  All you folks at the Big 5 publishing houses–Hachette, HarperCollins, Macmillan, Penguin Random House and Simon and Schuster–you can breathe now.

Breaking the writer’s blockade

Today I’m working on the sequel to Peak Season and I’m stuck. The sequel’s called Tourist in Paradise. Someone is hunting visitors in the idyllic beach town of Spanish Point and CW McCoy will either solve the murders or wind up a victim of one.

The first 11 chapters went fairly well, with a bit of a rough patch during an open house at her new real estate office. I struggled with that scene for weeks until I hit upon the solution: cut the chapter. And like an ice-breaker in the arctic, that cleared the path.

Synopsis and scribbling

Until I got to Chapter 12, the bar scene where two of the Three Stooges (you remember them from the first novel) reappear to menace our heroine. Well, maybe I hadn’t paid attention to motive or maybe I hadn’t laid the groundwork for the scene, but it just didn’t work. And it went on forever. So, where is the ice-breaker when you need it?

When in doubt, think it through. Why is CW at the bar in the first place? What does she want to know? What would she logically do in the preceding scenes that would place her there?

I need a scene before this one. I actually have a scene I can use, one I’d placed further on in the book, one that addresses the logistical issues. What if I move that one? Chapter 12 becomes lucky Chapter 13, and now things makes sense.

Or will, whenever I get around to rewriting the new scene. Right now I need a break. My drink is warm.

I need some ice.