Welcome, Storytellers,
As this is my first blog post on a random Sunday evening, let’s delve into the creative writing ramblings of a madman… or, at the very least, someone slightly askew.
Creative writing is, and has always been, the place where my creative voice (and my not-so-creative voice) gets to be heard by a world that’s either eager to read my words… or would rather listen to fingernails dragged down a chalkboard. Do chalkboards even exist anymore? (I’m showing my vintage.)
And in the fine words of Ms Carla Huetter, quoted from her book Does snail poo exist? which, frankly, is the kind of question only a writer would take seriously, we are reminded how curiosity is not a flaw. It’s a fuel source.
Because the world according to the creative mind has always offered an opportunity to shine a light upon the world, not the world as it’s supposed to be, but the world as it is when you tilt your head, squint a little, rub your tummy and notice the odd details everyone else walks past.
The creative mind is passionate. Raging. Sometimes balanced. Often direct. It finds time, in a moment of quiet (just a moment), to write a few thousand words, or speak the truth into a recording device. And it does so with the precision of a travelling circus sword thrower… or sword swallower… depending on which hemisphere you’re watching the world float by.
I’m fortunate, or cursed, depending on the day, to have the hive-mind of a recalcitrant 12-year-old who refuses to put down the pen and comply with the drudgery of the grey, black-suited, booted world.
Yes, I apply my skills to the corporate world. And yes, as the outcast of corporate oddity, misunderstood, unseen, occasionally tolerated, there are times when the corporate world gets curious enough to ask a question.
It only takes one.
One question, and the curtain twitches. One question, and the mind begins to unveil itself to the unsuspecting crosier, the person holding the staff, convinced they reside in the silhouette of some prestigious office, only to discover the office is mostly cardboard, and the silhouette is just good lighting.
But I digress.
Because in a world of AI and automatic, the “done-for-you” world, there’s a new player in town. And I’ll say it plainly: AI isn’t going to take over the world. It may be able to consider and provide answers faster, sure. But does faster mean better? Does a surface answer satisfy a recalcitrant 12-year-old wielding a pen like a weapon of mass disruption?
Depth. Structure. Emotion. Character.
The human factor is the missing ingredient in most AI passages, and without it, you can have perfect grammar and still say absolutely nothing. Here’s a story for you.
Canberra Institute of Technology (CIT) in 2026 instructed their first-year students in Term 1 to create a short film using only AI. No creative hive gathered. No meeting of the minds. No arguments over character motivation. No late-night “what if we changed the ending?” panic. Just an AI-generated film script.
The students were excited, properly excited, ready to show the old and weary how wrong they were. This new technology would create an outstanding 15-minute feature.
And then came the screening. Human actors. Human crew. Old-fashioned filming. Real lights. Real sweat. Real effort. And the script? AI guff, spat out like a fortune cookie that had been run through a blender. AI garbled message of nonsense.
No one liked it. No one admitted it was worth producing. And here’s the part that matters, the part I want you to lean in for: The failure wasn’t the students.
The failure wasn’t even the technology. The failure was the belief creativity is a button you press.
Story is a vending machine. Meaning comes pre-packaged. But story doesn’t work like that. Story is a conversation. It’s you arguing with yourself at 2am. It’s a character refusing to do what you told them. It’s a sentence landing like a punch, and then apologises for it.
It’s the moment you realise you’ve written something true and it scares you a little, because now you can’t un-know it (like the sex scenes in your first book your best friend read and was shocked you would know such things).
So this blog, Creative Writing Ramblings, is exactly that: a conversation. Not a lecture. Not a performance. Not a polished, corporate-approved, sanitised “content strategy.” A conversation.
Sometimes I’ll bring craft. Sometimes I’ll bring chaos. Sometimes I’ll bring a half-formed idea struggling to keep its teeth in. And I’d like you to bring something too.
Bring your questions. Bring your points of view. Bring your odd little observations and your big messy feelings. Bring your snail-poo-level curiosity. Because this is a friendly space, welcoming, open, and just askew enough to be interesting.
So grab a coffee. Pull up a chair. And if you’re the kind of person who’s ever stared at a blank page and thought, Right then… you and me… let’s see who blinks first, you’re in the right place.
And here’s the spectacular ending (because why not?) Somewhere out there, a story is tapping on the inside of your skull. Not politely. Not patiently. It’s knocking like it owns the place, (ask me about Christine).
And tonight, on this random Sunday evening, we’re opening the door. Because the world doesn’t need more perfect sentences. It needs more human ones. More brave ones. More strange, luminous, slightly feral ones.
So welcome, Storytellers. Let’s make some noise on the page, the kind which doesn’t fade when the screen goes dark. Boo!
2 comments
Hi,you are a magician of words.I am always eager to meet and chat with like minded people else i can’t connect with the worldy wise people.Observing , calculating, analyzing, recreating in my imagination and what not…My hunch is mine and can find its home where i find thinker like me.I want to be added to your crew to vent out all what goes in my weird brain.Hope to find same brain cells and make the noise…Boo!
Love Ojaswini
The 1st and most important memory of reading books, I could pronounce the words and not yet understand the words. 🤔The adults were amazed. I always knew education was the way out of poverty. I practically lived at the library. The leader of the band called “The Time” called me “Brainiac”. I was in the 9th grade and they were Seniors. Thirst for knowledge and wisdom I’m obsessed with, in mind and spirit. This is not bragging just fact. I’m very grateful I was given this gift. Grace and mercy has truly been with me my whole life. I’ve dreamed of reading to children. It feels right to teach thru stories “testimonies” better to be safe than sorry. I am the oldest of my siblings. So, situations I experience
d 1st, by the time they became legally old enough to leave the nest, knew something about what was going on outside the house.