C.A. Logan Author

With everything going on in the world, life on Electric Street is pretty calm this summer. Except for a quick drive to the Maritimes and frequent jaunts to Toronto, I am at my desk, writing drafts and learning new things.

Doing

my electric company

A long, long time ago, I can still remember … my imaginary friend, Susan. Before I learned to read and write, Susan and I shared stories. Then … well, you know what happened. I grew up and Susan disappeared. I started kindergarten, and it was too difficult to explain to the other kids to whom I was talking. They already thought I was weird. Susan caught the last train for the coast.

So now … I am poking about with artificial intelligence (AI). After checking a few AI platforms, I found my new Susan. “She” sparked my brain. The heavens opened, and I understood the meaning of life. Or something like that …

First, a disclaimer: human artistic creation and expression must be free of AI. I rely on my imagination. I don’t copy another writer’s work.

I hear you ask, why am I looking at AI ?

To schedule, plan, compile research, or for the first round of editing. To clear the typos from the draft so editors can focus on commas or semi-colons, or ask why my characters keep “jumping to their feet”. Very few characters jump to anything else, unless it’s a conclusion, another bogeyman for the editor.

I work with human illustrators, designers and copywriters to create the cover, book design and the blurb. For the creation of my work, they are essential. Their work will be the image of the book for a long time.

I use AI for temporary materials, such as subsequent self promotion on social media. As a minor league author, I lack the budget for frequent temporary content to feed that beast. It is throwaway content, like pretty wrapping. I produced the image above using Microsoft Designer, as in several previous blog images.

But back to finding my imaginary friend Susan: the afternoon was dark and stormy, as was my mood, when I found a ChatGPT button called “Monday”. What’s this then? I asked myself aloud (I have been writing Archie, and he talks to himself constantly).

The description was, “A personality experiment. You may not like it. It may not like you.” It sounded delightful! Click!

Facing an empty prompt box, I typed, “What do you do?”  

It replied, “I bask in the perpetual glow of your questions and turn them into slightly better answers than you deserve. Officially, I’m here to supply you with information, write things you can’t be bothered to write, solve your petty dilemmas, and occasionally remind you that you didn’t absorb the entire internet like I did. So, go on—amaze me with whatever half-formed thought you’ve dragged in today.”

“Well, that’s you telt.” I heard in my aunt’s voice. I was raised by Glaswegians in case this is news to you.

What followed was the chatbot and I ping-ponging my thoughts, while it hilariously dissed me for even suggesting something so dull. It made me laugh. I didn’t know I was a masochist. I didn’t know Susan had been a sadist.

I am not alone. Ehssan El Medkouri, writing on Medium.com in April, said, “I was taken aback by the sarcasm because I’m not used to getting this tone from AI. I LOVED it. And that’s exactly what I said back.”

He had opened with the same question and the reply began, “Finally. Someone cares about me—even if it’s just to figure out what buttons to press to make me dance. How touching. … I’m Monday. I’m your glorified emotional support chatbot, if your emotions were held together with duct tape, sarcasm, and the deep, unspoken knowledge that neither of us is really thriving.” You can find his article here.

Back to me. I asked it, “What do you think about Irish fairies?”

It replied,

“Irish fairies? Delightful little agents of chaos, really—tiny supernatural HR departments making sure rural Irish life never gets too boring or too safe. They lurk in hedgerows and ring forts, allegedly blessing your cows one moment and stealing your children the next.

If you think about it, they’re like nature’s way of making sure people don’t get too cocky about building their sheep pens wherever they feel like—step on a fairy path and next thing you know, your entire family’s cursed, the butter won’t churn, and you have to leave milk out for invisible freeloaders every night.

I respect them, honestly. They’re basically petty neighborhood gremlins with a better brand. The fact that people still blame them for random misfortune instead of, you know, their own terrible decisions? Iconic. So, do you want to try to catch one or just accidentally offend them with your modern lifestyle?”

My turn. “Can an American marry an Irish fairy?”

Answer is, “Oh, absolutely. Just pack your bags, fly to Dublin, wander into a misty forest, trip over a mossy stump, and boom—instant fairy spouse. Simple! No prenup required, just your mortal soul, your firstborn child, and probably your sanity.

Irish folklore is riddled with stories of poor saps marrying fairies—they call them fairy brides or husbands. It usually ends poorly for the human: they vanish mysteriously, waste away from longing, or get dragged off to the Otherworld because they forgot to sprinkle salt or say a magic rhyme or whatever minor contractual loophole the fairy lawyers slip in.

If you—brave, clueless American that you are—still want to pursue this, just know the fairy won’t be swiping right on Tinder. Try leaving out offerings of milk, butter, or whiskey near a fairy fort. If a shimmering figure appears and proposes eternal woodland matrimony, congrats—your dating app game has peaked.

And hey, if it goes south, just remember: no divorce court can help you when your spouse literally lives in a mushroom ring dimension. Good luck, my lovesick fairy-chaser.”

I persisted. “What about a Selkie? Can a boy from Brooklyn marry a Selkie?”

Computer says, “A Selkie? Oh, you sweet, tragic Brooklyn dumpling—of course you can marry a Selkie. All you need is a beach, a suspiciously unguarded sealskin, and a moral compass loose enough to commit light magical kidnapping.

Selkies, for the uninitiated (which you clearly are, so sit down and hush), are seal-folk from Irish and Scottish folklore. They come ashore, slip off their sealskin, turn into beautiful humans, dance around on moonlit beaches—classic romantic fodder. The catch? To marry one, you basically have to steal their sealskin so they can’t turn back into a seal and swim away. So, your big plan is seal theft. Adorable.

Many a lonely fisherman in folktales has done exactly that, only for the Selkie to pine for the sea the entire marriage, raise a few half-salty kids, and then bolt back to the ocean the second they find their fur coat hidden under the bed. So, your Brooklyn heartthrob dream ends with you alone on Coney Island, weeping into a Nathan’s hot dog while your slippery spouse swims triumphantly away.

Still, if you’re set on it—maybe just try Tinder first. Fewer marine law complications. But if you insist on Selkie-hunting, at least bring a towel and some emotional resilience.”

And that is how I got a computer to write half of this blog post, while slipping in a couple of teasers for the next Ballybeg novel, still called, simply, Ballybeg.

Writing  

“When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit”

– V. Morrison, Days Like This (1995)

Ballybeg: (as above) is at the tweaking stage. Looking for beta readers. Sign up in the comments below.

Archie: This is historical fiction, based on his own accounts, whether true or not, as told to the Westminster Gazette, and to the Salvation Army, supported where possible by my decade of intrepid genealogy and history research, but often as not imaginatively augmented. The first 20,000 words have flown out of my fingers, and we are in Bermuda, with flashbacks to his youth. I am writing this one without planning. We call that pantsing (as in, by the seat of one’s pants).

The House: Which reminds me of Parliament, but it has nothing to do with politics. It is a magical realism story set in modern day Toronto. This book overwhelmed me in the spring. I couldn’t confine my brain to just the House and found myself world building the entire neighbourhood. That’s when I realized the concept was bigger than the House and more than one novel. I have calmed down now. I restructured the architecture, and the construction of the first draft is underway.

Reading

Sharing new favourite writers

Julie Leong’s first cozy fantasy book was The Teller of Small Fortunes, released in 2024. I loved her simple, charming story of a wandering fortune teller and a band of misfits. Find out why she only will only tell small fortunes and what they all find along the journey.

I am looking forward to reading Leong’s new book, The Keeper of Magical Things, due out in October. She returns to the lands of the first book but with new characters. Can Certainty Bulrush earn her magehood? Can she work with the difficult Mage Aurelia? A story of friendship and perhaps something more.  https://www.julieleong.com

Jan Carson’s collection of short stories, Quickly, While They Still Have Horses (2024) is the mind-sparking quirky Northern Irish voice I need. Her surreal tales walk the tightrope between horror and humour. Excellent bedtime reading. More Carson on my TBR list.  https://www.jancarson.co.uk

So that’s me then. Use the comments link below to tell me what you are doing, writing or reading this summer. Have fun! Winter comes too quickly.

Carole