Doomed: Slaughter the Pig

This (as well as the rest of my stories) used to have an AI-generated cover, but I couldn't in good conscience let that persist. While AI undoubtedly has its place in our technological world, it can also easily become the murderer of human creativity. If we want to champion human endeavors, we must reward human effort. I will never again use AI to represent my work.

This novel was going to be part of a larger series, but I haven't done much with it because a chunk of my artistic heart has been missing for some time. It's not that I'm uninspired, although it certainly seems that way. I just don't know what to write, and I sometimes foolishly wonder why writing matters at all. It's a curious line of thinking considering my stance against AI. One could argue that if a human won't create, let a machine pick up the slack. But I think there's substantial beauty in this period of artistic emptiness, despite all the frustration I've dealt with. Even if I never write another story for the rest of my life, the things I've made nurtured something inside me that has kept me alive.

If there's one thing that an artist truly yearns for, it's creating something that holds lasting emotional depth. Not necessarily to others, although that helps. But the most precious jewel is the creation that makes the artist weep. I suppose I've gotten lost in my own mind searching for that. I've become so lost that I've lost a fair amount of discipline, and in my failure to produce, have become a witness to my dying dreams.