The "writer" sits at his computer,
slides in the softwear,
a context or two,
and in twenty minutes,
a "book" is produced
by the inanimate, conscienceless
There are thousands of these "books"
for sale on Amazon.
Poets with their scritchy pens
can only mourn
of times such as these.
Sadly, this is not fiction. A couple of years ago, I heard writers on CBC radio talking about these computer-generated books. One of them quipped they are in their early stages, right now, but give it five years, and one of them may win the Giller Prize. Sigh.
reference: Singularity Hub
for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Inanimate