I try to tell stories in my hike videos. Afterward, I write even more to add context, perspective, and behind-the-scenes glimpses. In writing, as in algebra, my goal is simplification: I distill my sentences until they can be simplified no further. I also take care that a word or phrase I find perfect hasn’t been corrupted or given new meaning in today’s social media. For example, if I were to write romance, I would probably not name my characters Brad and Karen.

Granted, generative AI can write both short and long stories. I could easily let a machine write for me. But as Pam Baker reiterates in her book, Generative AI For Dummies (2024), what AI will always lack is voice. Specifically, my voice.

On more than one occasion, I have struggled with a narrative because my thoughts sounded authoritative, preachy, and unfunny on the page—traits that AI naturally tends to exhibit. This frustration often holds me back from uploading a video for days. When I finally realize what is happening, I sleep on it. Frequently, I wake up in the middle of the night having found my true voice. I immediately get up and type away before the inspiration vanishes, using the language that common folk regularly use.

I suppose every artist has a muse. To paraphrase the late Michael Jackson, he believed he was merely the messenger for the songs he wrote. This is not to say I should dismiss AI altogether and rely solely on an elusive muse. Who am I to think that my muse cannot manipulate AI? I like to think instead that my muse, for all I know, could be speaking to me through AI.

Yes, on other occasions I would find nothing to write at all. Or at least nothing that will add something new to what the reader already knows. With just a rehash of events, it would be a real struggle. So, I would spruce it up with word acrobatics hoping to impress and entertain but instead later realize I made things worse. In which case (if I wake to my senses) I would revert to a subtler, sober, and voice-less narrative. With flamboyance gone, only truth remains. And that, I think, is what the reader ultimately wants.

Because I cannot pin my methods down, every piece I write remains a struggle. In fact, even though initial thoughts start forming along the trail, I rarely know what I am actually going to write about until after the video is finished. This unpredictable process has helped me understand something fundamental about myself. The creative reflection that comes after the journey is just as vital to me as the physical hike and the video itself. Ultimately, it is the mystery of the next story—and the surprise of discovering what I will write—that truly inspires me to lace up my boots and plan for future trails.