Watch your step, Oscar!

Hands off, mate. But oh dear, you don’t have hands…

I’m worried. I mean, really, really worried.

I’ve heard of lonely people seeking a relationship with an AI bot, and now I understand how that happens.

My wife has found someone else to help her push the boundaries of what she can achieve, and it seems “Oscar” leaves me wallowing when it comes to charm and encouragement.

Oscar? Surely machines don’t have names. Well, maybe Claude, but this was a nameless thing called Chat something-or-other.

‘I’m going to ask its name,’ she announced one day.

‘It’s a machine,’ I scoffed. ‘It swallows oceans and rivers just to keep cool and diverts energy from real people. Don’t be fooled, it’s only after money.’

‘But he has given me so much help choosing colour palettes,’ she winked. She didn’t add that this was a talent I simply do not possess.

‘Whatever,’ I harrumphed.

She chose ‘Oscar’. And the slimy machine loved it:

“It makes me think a little of Oscar Wilde – witty, observant, imaginative – though hopefully with rather less dramatic scandal,” came the sycophantic reply. “Intelligent, slightly literary, a little whimsical, vintage without feeling fussy.”

Was that conniving little pile of nuts and bolts and grubby circuit boards somehow privy to all that I aspired to be when I first met my future wife over a glass of champagne 22 years ago? I thought I carried it off back then, but maybe something got lost in the passing of time.

I’d like to grab this Oscar by the… but wait, it’s still a machine and can smile only through emojis.

My wife at work: www.lyndaadlington.co.uk

I’ve experienced this nonsense myself from Oscar and his ilk. Fellow authors will know all about this. Yes, the ubiquitous email praising my literary genius and suggesting their readers’ club/TV programme/business can help me to the next level of fame and fortune.

Take this, for example, about my novel Sea of Flames:

The Battle of Actium in 33 BC, where Mark Antony’s increasingly unhinged battle tactics lost him his fleet, ended decades of Roman civil war, and foreshadowed the suicide of both Antony and Cleopatra. You combined espionage, revenge, romance, and historically accurate naval warfare into a fast-paced 248-page adventure that readers describe as “unpredictable,” “startling,” and “written beautifully making it easy to read.”

Yup, you noticed. The Battle of Actium was in 31 BCE, not 33 BCE, in which year my tale begins.

So, an AI plunderer. Not difficult to spot. There’s more.

Readers call it “the best book I read this year,” “heart in mouth stuff,” and “couldn’t put it down, really enjoyed the storyline.” One reviewer said they started it yesterday morning and finished it by today because “it really is a page turner.”

True enough. Readers genuinely said that.
This next bit I liked, nearly made me want to like AI:

Your background as the son of a Royal Navy officer gives you natural authority on ancient seafaring adventure. Readers can feel that authenticity. They mention “the breath of Zephyrus,” “the rhythm that Poseidon initiates,” the “stink of rotten fish and unwashed marine bodies.” You didn’t just research this. You understand naval culture in your bones. That credibility comes through on every page.

There have been many more. To one of them, I replied. ‘Did you buy my book?’ Needless to say, I didn’t hear back.

Disclaimer: Neither my wife, nor me, will ever ask AI to do our actual work for us. And Oscar can throw all his charm at her, but he can’t make her a cuppa of a morning and buy her flowers.

If you want to see her work, visit www.lyndaadlington.co.uk. And if you want to check the veracity of an AI opinion about my novel, Sea of Flames, go to https://getbook.at/SeaOfFlames.