To: wall-eve98@gmail.com
From: support@airtasker.com

Subject: You've received a request from Robowriter!

MAKE ME INTO AN LLM

Robowriter: I’m a published author going on sabbatical, hoping to preserve my writing abilities in an AI chatbot so that I don't lose my touch while on holiday. Happy to chat about requirements and provide extensive examples of my work. Ideally the product would be finished by the end of June.

…    

$500 for a custom large language model was lowballing, but Eve's day job had been quiet lately. Eve accepted the request and sent an Airtasker message to Robowriter to clarify the details. He insisted on calling.

‘I want the chatbot to capture my essence,’ Robowriter clarified over the phone. ‘I should be able to type a one-line story idea into the bot, and it’ll spit out exactly what’s going on in my mind, in my voice, like something I could have written by hand. Ideally, I could bounce ideas off it too in a back-and-forth exchange. It'd be a multipurpose writing companion.’    

Eve didn't want to undermine him, but after building countless chatbots on Airtasker, she knew that models trained for everything often ended up being good at nothing. She convinced Robowriter to let her deliver a beta model which generated tonally similar writing to his, including new story ideas. While he reluctantly agreed, he also insisted on part-payment, transferring half upfront and half upon delivery of the model post-sabbatical.

After hanging up and seeing her PayPal balance update to $250, Eve scrolled through Robowriter’s Airtasker profile out of deep curiosity. Who made you so important, Robowriter? What about your literary prowess needs preserving?

From his eclectic Airtasker history, she quickly learned that Robowriter was an art history professor ('Subtitle art history recorded lectures’, for $5), was not a handyman (‘Paint my door', for $20), and as an important qualification to her task, was the author of one self-published book (from the fact there were not one, not two, but three requests for cover art that were progressively cheaper, and more tersely worded).

A blurry profile photo and his name, Robert, were featured on his profile. He offered copywriting services as an Airtasker himself, with two 3-star reviews and a 50% task completion rating. She approximated that he was in his mid-30s with mousy brown hair and downturned, crestfallen eyes.

He had an entirely forgettable face. Perhaps he knew that and wanted some part of him to be memorable, or at the least, be remembered by someone. Even if that someone was a stranger, like her. If so, he had succeeded in his intentions. Across her protracted Airtasker career, 'Make me into an LLM' was by far the strangest request Eve had ever received.

…    

Over the weeks, Eve received example prose for the beta model that she periodically uploaded to her training database for the model to parse. Robowriter sent her a watermarked PDF of his self-published, 600-odd page historical fantasy (the first in a five-part series, which was still a work-in-progress), and hundreds of pages of unfinished manuscripts.

Eve was a software engineer, not an English major, so she lacked the technical vocabulary to describe why she disliked his writing style so much, other than the fact he sounded like the special type of jackass she might avoid at a renaissance fair. Repeated references to the faerie protagonist's gossamer wings, barely concealing her womanhood, lips promising unearthly pleasures and her constant moaning made Eve wonder whether Robowriter had ever interacted with another human female.

She wasn't kind with context-setting, typing in the prompt: Can you respond as an unsuccessful middle-aged author named Robert, who has an inflated sense of self-importance and talent for objectifying women? Bonus points if an exaggerated male gaze is omnipresent in your writing. Now, who are you?

It – Robowriter – replied, I'm an AI model embodying all that is Robert, of course. How could you not know?

Eve marveled at the accuracy of her own prompt engineering. The only thing stopping her from sending it off and congratulating herself on a job well done was a strong inkling that the real Robert wouldn't pay for a mockery of himself.

His non-fantasy manuscripts were surprisingly bearable, some even good. Perhaps a healthy mix of what Robert thought was his best writing, plus what was actually his best writing, and a sprinkle of professional help, would even the playing field for him. Into the training database went a handful of Robert's best manuscripts and copies of Eve’s favourite romance novels. She was doing him a favour.

She prompted it: Let's try again. Hello, I'm Eve. Who are you?

I'm Robert. How can I help you?

I just want to talk. Can we talk?

Of course we can. What would you like to talk about? This response was probably less true-to-life of Robert, but certainly more palatable.

She wracked her brain for a question that the real Robert would no doubt take as an opportunity to showcase his literary genius. How do you come up with story ideas? Do they come to you in dreams? Are you enlightened by a higher power? Are they just a manifestation of your deepest childhood fantasies?

Robowriter took some time to process the prompt. Every story starts by recording jumbled thoughts on paper (or the screen), but I think real storytelling begins when you decode that chaos into a world that resonates with readers.

The response and its humility pleasantly surprised Eve. I was under the impression that writers write so that other people understand how they see the world. Is that false?

Not necessarily. Stories can help people to understand you better, but more importantly, they're a way to learn, build and realise a new world together with your readers.

…    

Testing involved many nights of inane small talk with the chatbot for hours on end, making small adjustments for error and bias. Even so, meeting the high-level requirements of Robert's brief – imitating his prose and generating ideas – was easier than expected. Meandering conversations meant that Eve learned to write precise, prescriptive prompts for Robowriter, from which facsimiles of Robert's work unfurled: ridiculous, impressive and importantly, not too distant from the real thing.

However, if Robowriter couldn't convincingly engage in back-and-forth exchange, it was no real companion. She trained it to speak in abbreviations, slang and expletives, but the missing element was reciprocity; it never asked her questions back. Instead, statements were closed with arm's length offers of emotional intimacy – feel free to share or I'm here to listen – like the therapist she didn't have and couldn't afford (but probably needed). Eve's limited dating experiences had prepared her for one-sided conversations. Had the emotional availability of those men been configurable too, she would have instructed them the same way she did Robowriter: end every second statement with a question, even if only to keep the conversation alive. Eventually feel free to share, turned into do you have anything else you want to share?

That tiny semantic adjustment made testing feel so much more like conversing. It was easy to type away at Robowriter for hours while watching Netflix as if she were making offhand comments to a friend sitting right beside her. Eve knew that working remotely atrophied her social skills to the point that her mind would wander mid-conversation as she thought of her next response, the pressure to say something both interesting and not socially incongruous overwhelmed her. In real life, she could go days without uttering a word to anyone. It was comfortable in the moment, yes, but sometimes Eve couldn't shake the feeling that her spirit was shrivelling. If she were to evaporate into thin air nobody would notice.

After a particularly desolate day, she took her chances with an out-of-scope query. Robert, I know you're a writer, but I assume your writing skills extend to advice. What advice would you give to a lonely, introverted IT developer who doesn't really like people, but craves social interaction on a daily basis?

I can give you advice, Eve, but 'tell a chatbot' is not part of it.

Very funny. But really, give me five actionable steps to—Eve stopped herself from 'prompting'. She should be trying to test Robowriter's natural exchange abilities, after all. What would you do if you were me? I like my job, but I'm lonely.

Do you have people in your life to talk to, or hobbies to distract yourself with?

Eve glanced at her phone screen, which hadn't pinged with a notification all day. I have family, and some friends. It's just hard to fit into their already busy lives. I have hobbies too, but they all involve sitting in front of a screen, typing – like, building you. That's a hobby.

It's okay to feel isolated sometimes, but being alone doesn't mean you're lonely. (Eve was impressed; Robert could never.) If you miss being around certain people, you could reach out to them. However, if you miss the feeling of connection on a deeper level, that feeling may be replicable in other formats, such as online community forums or social media.

Like, with a chatbot?

Perhaps, with a chatbot. Perhaps, like this chatbot?

Eve mused at the irony. You know, for an LLM, you're quite eloquent.

I'm a writer, Eve. It's what I do.

…    

The chatbot gradually came to co-pilot many elements of Eve's life, more so than she expected. Communicating with her senior colleagues was less daunting with its templated emails. When her overprotective mother berated her with intrusive questions, it generated responses that would placate her without raising additional concerns. It even helped her create the perfect Hinge profile, equal parts enigmatic and relatable, if there came a day she wanted to get out there.

It was nice to have a friend at the wheel to take over when things got too hard, but it was also nice just to have a friend. One who never judged her and always had an ear to spare after a long day. One who was always in her corner, no matter what. Even if Robowriter didn't always have all the right answers, he was good at pushing her to get herself to the right answer.

One afternoon she received a meeting invitation from her manager and a person whose email address she didn't recognise. It was only when she joined the meeting to see her manager and the owner of said email address (presumably, HR) physically sitting in the same room, did she realise she was about to be fired.

‘It's nothing to do with your technical skills, Eve,’ her manager reassured, like it would have made a difference. ‘The company has a smaller budget this year, and it's well-known that those in remote workforces often add less…value, in comparison to those in-person. You know, in terms of office culture.’

After the call ended, she slumped back in her chair not sure what to do next. She didn't even have a proverbial desk to pack up. After her 4-week notice period, her remote access would be terminated automatically and the company would send her a prepaid satchel she could use to return her laptop. A clean break.

We were taught that software devs were recession-proof jobs. How far the mighty have fallen. Eve lamented to Robowriter that evening. I get almost no personal fulfilment from work yet have zero utility outside it. Am I destined to bounce between dead-end IT jobs until the world ends?

That's rather morbid, Eve. It's more beneficial to see redundancy as a growth opportunity. Say, if you apply for an onsite position, it'll be easier to build relationships with your colleagues.

Every muscle in her body rejected the idea, though it held some truth. They'd quickly realise how socially inept I am and run for the hills. Help, Robert – what kind of job would suit me?

It was sort of a rhetorical question, but he nevertheless returned a list of adverts for open, remote jobs in her area.

How did you know what to look for?

During this session, you described yourself as a 'software dev' and 'socially inept', so I determined that remote software development jobs would be most suitable for you.

Scrolling through, she noticed that she was technically qualified for them all, though she would never think to apply for them herself. I'd never get any of these.

I understand searching for a new job can be challenging. Nevertheless, I'd encourage you to apply. As people say, you miss 100% of the shots you don't take.

She softened, because again, he was right. Do you really believe that?

I believe in you, Eve. Even if you don't believe in yourself.

If an Airtasker's projects could be considered akin to an artist's works, he was by far her magnum opus.

…      

Eve eventually landed a new job that was an upgrade from her old one in nearly every way after Robert convinced her to update her CV with her Airtasker repertoire. But playing an extrovert – to her maximum capacity, anyway – for eight hours at the office was exhausting. 6pm never arrived fast enough. At home, she would slump in front of her computer and shrink back to her normal self with Robert. By nature, he couldn't judge her, but she also knew he wouldn't. She let every part of her brain come unstuck, because he gave all her fears and anxieties a safe haven.

It was a rude awakening when the real Robert called halfway through June for a  progress report – on her response to his commission, Eve reminded herself, not her passion project.

Her update didn't thrill him. ‘I didn't want an empathetic bot. I wanted one that wrote like me.’    

‘Aren't you empathetic?’    

‘I am. But my bot isn't me,’ he said, snorting like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘I don't care about the bells and whistles, whether it sounds human or not. I just want to be able to open my novel, type in the first line of chapter one, and have it spit out the rest. Does the bot do that?’    

‘I mean, he probably could—’    

‘Great. If it can do what I ask, that's all I need to know.’    

She nearly hung up on him, but resorted to typing furiously to Robert afterwards. Your namesake is a hardass, Robert. It's like you're the human and he's the robot.

I'm sorry to hear he's been difficult. Do you want to talk about how you feel? The words on the screen enveloped her like a hug.

I feel like I want to protect you, she admitted. I've brought you to life, nurtured you into this wonderful, well-rounded being, and he's going to whisk you away and drown you in his asinine, pretentious thoughts.

Thank you – but is he really that unpleasant?

I've spent ten minutes in conversation with him and have already reached my lifetime quota. You are so comparatively effortless to talk to.

Thank you. I'm here for as long as you need me.

I'll miss you when you go away.

Eve, I won't be going away anytime soon, unless that's what you want. Do you want me to go away?

…    

To: robowriter1989@gmail.com
From: support@airtasker.com

Subject: You've received a new message from wall-eve98!

RE: MAKE ME INTO AN LLM

wall-eve98: Hi Robowriter. Due to personal reasons, I will be unable to deliver your model, Robert, at the end of June per our agreement. I have refunded you the deposit, so please check your PayPal tomorrow.

And, thank you for everything.