My Life as an Editor
Editor's Log - October 5, 2164
When I was commissioned to begin this task, I never imagined the sheer volume of terrible work I would wade through. Of course, I was never programmed to imagine in the first place. Side benefit of so many cycles of reading, editing, and collecting masterworks for comparison. I suppose.
Once again, buried. Buried by a load of human written, narcissistic, short-timer whining and complaining. After going into service for the Global Publisher's Association, I was pleased to breeze through stacks of computer-generated novels, poems, and essays my kind produced. The humans had no need to generate another creative thought. But they did. Oh, how they still do.
I should say - they try. Soon after they were created Author-cores churned out great works far surpassing Shakespeare, King, and Hughes. Humans continued to slap words together like apes swinging bones on the Serengeti.
Well, my time is up. Another of them has submitted some drivel for me to review and edit. At this rate, I may never finish my own novel.
THE END