Writing with AI isn’t cheating. It’s like moving from a pen to a typewriter.
When the first typewriters appeared, many people said writing was losing its soul.
That it wasn’t the same anymore.
That mechanical strokes dehumanized words.
That if you didn’t write by hand, you couldn’t call it real writing.
And yet, we used them.
Because they were faster, more efficient, and more readable.
Because they let us write more, and also think better.
Because they removed part of the technical effort, and left us with more energy to focus on ideas.
Years later, text editors arrived.
Word, automatic spell-checkers, red underlines, blue suggestions.
And once again, the same voices:
“This isn’t authentic.”
“Now anyone can write without knowing spelling.”
“We’re losing the craft.”
But… really? Were we losing it, or was it simply changing?
Because today, in 2025, history is repeating itself again – only this time, the protagonist is called Artificial Intelligence.
Writing with AI? “That doesn’t count”
The reaction repeats itself:
“You didn’t write that.”
“That’s cheating.”
“A machine did it.”
And yes, using AI to write changes the process, but it doesn’t invalidate it. In fact, what many criticize today looks a lot like what others criticized yesterday. The tools change, but the fear doesn’t: fear of losing control, fear of seeming less like an author, fear of being replaced.
But the truth is different
The truth is that no tool writes by itself.
Not a pen.
Not a typewriter.
Not Word.
Not AI.
If you don’t know what you want to say, no model will help you. And if you have something valuable to communicate, it doesn’t matter whether you type it yourself or lean on an artificial assistant: the voice is still yours.
Because authenticity doesn’t depend on the medium.
It depends on intention.
On judgment.
On revision.
On whether what you’re publishing represents you – or not.
Writing today is different. But it’s still writing.
Writing with AI isn’t stopping writing – it’s writing with different tools.
Like we did when we left the pen behind.
Like we did when we stopped using white-out.
Like we did when we learned keyboard shortcuts.
Every technological leap in the history of writing has created the same discomfort and, at the same time, opened the door to new ways of expressing, communicating, and creating.
Today we have something new.
A powerful tool.
But not magic (well, a little bit magic, yes).
If you have nothing to say, it won’t say it for you.
And if you know who you are and what you want to tell, AI can help you say it better.
In summary
The problem isn’t using AI.
The problem is having nothing to say.
And that’s something neither the best pen, nor the best typewriter, nor the most advanced model in the world can fix.
The proof
That said, I want to share a personal project that was born precisely from this question:
What happens when we create a literary work with the help of an AI… and it still sounds like us?
The result is a free adaptation of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, written from my perspective and personal experiences, reimagined and created in dialogue with a virtual assistant that knows both the original work and my way of thinking and writing.
The Catalan version is the most polished and complete one, and it includes a prologue where I explain this whole intention.
You can see the book here (Spanish)
You can see the book here (Catalan)
And I’ll also leave the translated version of the prologue here, in case someone doesn’t understand the original.
Prologue:
Kafka 3.0. Gregor’s Transformation in the Digital Age
Why this story?
I wanted to explore how artificial intelligence could open doors to things we never would have imagined… but with one essential condition: that it wouldn’t do everything for me.
AI is an extraordinary tool, but it doesn’t act on its own initiative: it needs a human mind behind it.
What can truly transform the world is the creativity, passion, and empathy of the person using it, and the work that carries our personal fingerprint.
If we delegate too much to machines, we risk losing what makes us unique:
the ability to create with vulnerability, to connect through authenticity, and to make mistakes that can turn into beauty.
As Schopenhauer said, we seek connection, not perfection¹.
What moves us isn’t the promise of a flawless result,
but the deep feeling of having found ourselves in another,
of having shared a moment, an idea, or an emotion.
It’s that connection that transforms us and helps us grow.
Without human direction, AI could end up filling the world with technically perfect but empty products. With standards without soul. With efficiency without meaning.
This story is a free adaptation of Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, written in 1915,
brought into our present day through my own interpretation.
Behind it there are personal experiences, learning, and also the collaboration with a virtual assistant that not only knows the original work deeply, but also knows me:
how I think, how I write, and what I’m trying to convey.
We wrote it together.
Where does my voice end and where does theirs begin?
That’s the question.
Some will say: “An AI did all of this for you.”
I don’t think so.
There’s a lot of work behind it: the initial idea, the story building, the style, the connections…
It’s shared work, but not the result of a single prompt, a single tool, or a single experience.
It’s the product of a dialogue and a living creative process.
And maybe that’s exactly what makes it so human.
¹ This sentence is a free interpretation of Schopenhauer’s thought. In his works, he insisted that the essence of human life is not found in efficiency or perfection, but in the deep and emotional experience of the world. He spoke about the power of music as the most direct form of connection with the will, that vital force that runs through everything that exists, the Wille. For him, art, beauty, and even solitude were paths toward a more authentic truth than any rational system.
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