For instance, it is nearly dawn…

Julian Gorham

For instance, it is nearly dawn, the epic zeptosecond before early dawn. (A trillionth of a billionth of a second, they reckon.) Tiny time twixt one thing and the next.

Notice on this page, how close to ‘nearly dawn’ ‘early dawn’ is (just an extra ‘n’, but distinct). Neither a dawn to remember, nor a dawn to forget, yet. A dawn dangled as bait on a stick. The wriggling worm of a new day ahead, confirming the prospect. Animating it to enticement. Or a train, say, hurtling through the slowmo morn, destination unknown, opportunity fanning out in front like a galaxy.

Then it dawned on me. That a series of nearly dawns Is where life is lived best.

That the rest is the rest. For to live properly is to live in intensity. In an ecstacy of about to be’s. Fuelled by possibility and hope’s dopamine. That neuromodulatory molecule. Always running towards a something.

For instance; the moment before the cell divides, or the bread can be said to be toast. As the wave’s about to apex or the soufflé moves to rise. In the heartbeat between warm womb and cold room. When the wrapped present’s held at arm’s length. The pucker-up before the kiss. The gorgeous forkfull going from view, so soon to savoured. Waiting for the sky’s switch to click and ionise air after rain.

Life is a joyride on the fine line between hope and experience. I like the spaces in between, see. Hymnal liminality. Which, it dawns on me quite literally, is neither here nor there.

(260 words)

Jul-AI-n Gorham (Chat GPT)

Instruction: Write a 260 word story that is inspired by and includes the phrase, ‘For instance, it is nearly dawn’.

In the quiet hour before the world stirs, a lone figure walks the edge of a forgotten forest. The stars are softening, their brittle light fading as dawn nears. He moves slowly, careful not to disturb the gentle hush blanketing the trees. The world feels fragile, as if one loud thought could shatter it.

For instance, it is nearly dawn, yet night clings to him like a shadow, the residue of dreams still staining the air. The path beneath his feet twists and turns, as if it, too, is reluctant to reach the end, to surrender to the coming light. But he knows the forest well, knows how it breathes between darkness and dawn, how it holds its secrets close, safe within the roots.

Each step draws him closer to the edge, to where the trees break open and fields stretch wide, a gentle slope bathed in the first blush of morning. He stops there, at the forest’s end, where the horizon holds its breath. The colors of dawn spread like whispers, hesitant yet inevitable.

For a moment, he feels the weight of years lift, memories slipping away into the fresh light, into the soft promise of another day. He closes his eyes, lets the warmth of the sun touch his face as it rises fully, chasing away the remnants of night. And as the dawn finally claims the sky, he breathes in, lighter, ready.

(235 words)

Notes on the experience.

Like many writers, I am queasy about AI. Until copyright is sorted, it seems to me that AI is biting the hand that feeds it. So it was with some trepidation that I signed up to Chat GPT and tapped in my instructions. Words appeared ‘as if by magic’ almost instantaneously. People of a certain age will think the Grandstand teleprinter has lost its mind. So far, so easy.

What’s this? ’The trees break open’, ’The horizon holds its breath’. Could AI be a sounding board for ideas? Also nice, ‘The world feels fragile as if one loud thought could shatter it’ or ‘The horizon holds its breath’ or ‘The dawn finally claims the sky’. Should I appreciate its flinging out ideas from which I can move off in directions I might not have thought of?

Over all, the piece lacks depth and emotion. I find it strangely ‘at one level’ and rather unengaging. I found myself comparing the experience with the way developers construct buildings using metal frames – they ‘throw them up like vomit’ (my phrase) in my part of London – and, for me, it often shows in the final result.

For now, at least, it might just matter that it’s writers who do the writing. But AI is here to stay. Perhaps it’s a creative resource after all, not a threat. More of an Organising Intelligence than Artificial. At least that way I can shout at it and say OI!

– Julian