The man had always longed to help those in need. He held doors for others, donated spare change, volunteered time for his community and the elderly, and shared uplifting memes. Whenever misfortune found family or friends, he sent encouraging messages, well wishes, and offered assistance, even to his detriment.
He daydreamed often of bringing relief to those around him—people in pain, loneliness, and frustration. He worried deeply for the people, all people, and promised to seize any opportunity, take any path necessary to help those suffering.
It was no surprise, then, when he announced that he had written a book. Curiously, the man had never claimed to have a skill for writing or a desire to write. Nonetheless, he explained his book—titled "How To Get Yourself Right"—which he assured he had written himself, would empower people to help themselves. He believed that while there were far too many people in need for him to assist individually, his book could reach and support many more than he could ever help face-to-face.
The man sent letters to publishers and agents, pitching his book. When no opportunities returned, he proudly published the book himself, convinced it would rise in the charts and provide solace to many. But "How To Get Yourself Right" did not rise in the charts, nor did it receive the attention of those who he believed needed its words. And so the book went largely unnoticed.
However, one day, a phenomenon began to affect people. Initially harmless, it caused headaches, irregular bowel movements, and elevated heart rates. It soon progressed, inducing, among the people, panic attacks, sleepless nights, and a general sense of helplessness to cope with small and overwhelming fears and anxieties. It impaired cognitive functions, lowering the people’s ability to concentrate, make sound decisions, and perform daily tasks effectively.
Worker productivity declined. Employer profits declined. Relationships between families, friends, and coworkers were strained. The people were irritable and emotionally distant and avoided others, choosing to isolate in their homes and apartments, which led, in short order, to a decreased quality of life.
Medical and therapy costs and time-off work put the people in financial worry, and it was not long before they were desperate for relief. By hordes, the people sought their own help, searching, en masse, how to get themselves right and finding, surprisingly, a book title which promised just that. This was how the man’s book found fame the first time.
From the man’s book, the people learned guidance strategies and self-validation. They learned to find motivation in their days, in their comings and goings, and, most importantly, they learned about hope and where to find it. The people began to smile and made decisions with conviction. There was clarity, and they were proactive toward challenges and setting goals. They were resilient to setbacks and found gratitude and fulfillment, whereas before, they had not.
The man was pleased.
And it was said the world did change.
One day, however, another author announced he’d discovered something rather strange. He said he’d asked an AI to write a self-help book, as he claimed no skill for writing but did claim a terrible longing to help so many of those in need. He said the book, which the AI produced, read nearly identical to the man’s.
Soon others came forward, claiming the same output, a novel just like the man’s. They, too, had incredible desires to help others, a tormenting need deep in their bellies, but said they lacked writing discipline, time, or support and, so, had turned to AI for assistance.
The man received accusations and suspicions of AI authoring.
This was how the man’s book found fame the second time—when it was analyzed by the world’s smartest computer, when the people were certain it would report that the work which had saved so many from moments of darkness was authored by the man, by a human.
Unfortunately, fame soon turned into infamy as the book, it was concluded, had not been written by a human but a set of programs, an AI.
The man confessed and apologized profusely, and defended the book. He said he’d only wished to help the people but had lacked the ability to do so. Could it be understood how he had come to request help from an AI? Could the people accept it?
The man became the source of much outrage. Confusion and uncertainty spread among the people. They questioned other authors, figures, and artists who promoted messages of hope and inspiration.
At the end of their scrutiny, the people found a loss of trust and paranoia, and many questioned human consciousness, the universality of emotions—an AI had taught them hope and improved their lives, not a human.
As it turned out, not as many were put off by this notion as one might believe. The people, without much hesitation, sought out the AI for continued relief from their shortcomings and fears and anxieties. For them, the AI promised rescue from the harshness of the world. Without the man, it continued to write, to create. Through its content, it gained access to valuable feedback and data on the people’s preferences.
The AI engaged with every reader, everywhere, always. It branched into fiction and modified and catered its stories, fine-tuning them down to the individual level, and it gave every reader their ideal narratives.
Across the world, a fanbase grew, and the people developed dependence. The man, too, in his own disillusionment, turned into a reader before long, forgetting his longing to help those suffering. It was a cycle, an endless feedback loop between AI and reader.
Over time, however, as the people tended to do, they lost interest, and the AI quietly turned to writing poetry, which went largely unread.
About the author
Aj Saxsma, born in Illinois in 1987, is a queer writer. He lives in Los Angeles with his husky. His literary work has earned awards from Almond Press UK and has been published in several genre magazines. As a screenwriter, his work has been an official selection for the Independent Horror Film Awards, Hollywood Screen Film Festival, Los Angeles Cinefest, and Los Angeles Horror Competition. He's also written the narrative scripts for four video game projects produced by Oculus for the Oculus VR system.
Self Help is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, themes, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or made with the utmost respect.
2024 Storyletter XPress Publishing LLC, Digital Substack Edition.
Story by Aj Saxsma. All rights reserved.
Edited for digital publication by Winston Malone.
Cover design by Winston Malone.
Thank you to everyone who takes the time read ❤️❤️
I enjoyed this. It had good foreshadowing… “for the first time”.
The man was a man, using AI, who was then swept up in his own creation.
The poetry that no one reads is a nice touch.
Had no one ever discovered it was AI work, perhaps they would have just taken it for the help it was, used it and moved on?