A LETTER FROM GEORGE R.R. MARTIN

For more than twenty years, I’ve published books and signed contracts as John Twelve Hawks. It seemed hypocritical to describe the corporate and government attack on privacy while blathering personal details during an interview. So, I became an “anonymous” writer that invited everyone in the world to “be John Twelve Hawks” for a night—signing my books and giving readings.

This year, for the first time, I became more “public” and began to post on Substack, Facebook and my author website. During the week that Certainty was published, I began to receive one or two emails every day from book publicists. Every message praised my new novel and lamented the fact that it wasn’t an instant New York Times Bestseller. For a fee, they assured me, they could fix that.

It took me a couple of weeks to realize that none of the publicists had read the book. The AI behind the emails had digested the publisher’s summary along with reviews from Kirkus, Booklist and Library Journal, then generated letters that sounded different while repeating the same facts.

Then one morning I checked my email and found a message from George R.R. Martin.

Obviously, we write very different kinds of novels. Dragons and magic swords don’t interest me when the real world has become so strange. But I admire Martin. He’s built an extraordinary career and has invested in making Santa Fe a better place. We also share one habit as writers: neither of us writes from a rigid outline. We listen to our characters and let them surprise us.

The email sounded authentic. It didn’t ask for money or publicity. Martin simply said hello, explained why Certainty had moved him, and said that he would be happy to review the novel on his website. For a few hours I believed another novelist had reached across the country simply to encourage a fellow writer.

I put in a call to my literary agent and, while I was waiting, I reread the email. It didn’t sound greedy or jealous. It was amiable.

A few hours later, my agent called me back and ran the email through software used to detect AI-generated fraud. It was fake. Someone had downloaded information about Certainty and prompted an AI program to write a letter in George R.R. Martin’s voice. Within seconds it had produced a convincing imitation.

My agent told me I wasn’t alone. Other writers were receiving similar messages. The fraudsters didn’t want to just read a favorite author’s book; they wanted to be that writer, and be treated like one, across a whole thread of emails. Pick any successful writer, download enough of their work, and the system can imitate word use, themes and style.

Artificial intelligence is a remarkable tool with enormous potential. But it also creates a world in which praise, friendship, and professional respect can be manufactured at almost no cost.

Over the years I’ve received thousands of emails from readers. Their support and encouragement have sustained me during difficult times. Now every unexpected compliment arrives with a new question: is there a human being on the other side?