Let’s deal with the illustration first. Here is the entire session:
This version of DALL-E is bundled with ChatGPT 4o, and is accessed by entering a regular ChatGPT prompt. The default result is two thumbnail pictures, which deliver high-definition PNGs when clicked.
The second picture surprised me with how detailed and convincing it was. It made me wonder if it had been cribbed from the work of a single artist. However the artistry has been digested more thoroughly than simple plagiarism would explain. The first picture shows what are recognisably the same two characters, but in slightly different clothes. However they have swapped places (in contravention of my prompt).
Let’s turn now to the story. This is my initial prompting, which could serve as a boilerplate for eliciting any desired folk tale.
Here’s the text of the response, which is the requested story.
Rosemary for Remembrance
Moses had always been a solitary man, living in a small, cluttered cottage on the outskirts of the village. He was known for his frugality and his meticulousness. One day, as he walked through the village square, he noticed a young girl named Rosemary sitting on the cobblestone street, selling small bouquets of flowers. Her delicate frame and the sorrow in her eyes caught his attention.
“Why are you selling flowers?” Moses asked her.
“I have no family and no other way to make a living,” Rosemary replied softly.
Moses, seeing an opportunity to fulfill his need for a caretaker, proposed to Rosemary on the spot. He didn’t speak of love or companionship, but rather of a practical arrangement. Rosemary, with no better prospects, accepted. They were married quietly, and she moved into his cottage.
At first, things went as Moses had planned. Rosemary took care of the house, mended his socks, cooked his meals, and tended to the garden. However, it wasn’t long before Rosemary fell ill. Her once bright eyes grew dull, and her strength waned. Moses watched her decline, refusing to call a doctor because he despised spending money. He convinced himself that she would get better on her own.
But Rosemary did not get better. One cold morning, she passed away quietly in their bed. The village was outraged. They whispered and gossiped about how Moses had let his young wife die, branding him as a heartless miser. The guilt and sorrow gnawed at Moses, who realized too late that he had loved her in his own way.
Stricken with remorse, Moses knew he could not stay in the village. He sold his cottage and most of his possessions, buying only a rosemary bush with the little money he had left. With nothing but the bush in hand, he gave the rest of his money to the villagers and left, becoming a poor wanderer.
From then on, Moses traveled from village to village, always standing in the marketplace with his rosemary bush. If anyone stopped to ask him what he was doing, he would silently hand them a sprig of rosemary and say, “Rosemary for remembrance.” It was the only thing he ever said, and it became his mantra.
Years passed, and Moses became a familiar figure in the region. His once neatly trimmed beard grew long and white, and his clothes became tattered. Yet, he continued his silent pilgrimage, carrying the rosemary bush with reverence. Villagers spoke of the old man with the rosemary, and stories about him spread far and wide.
One bitter winter, Moses’s journey came to an end in a small village nestled in a valley. He was found lying peacefully on the ground, clutching his rosemary bush. The villagers, having heard tales of the old man, decided to honor him. They erected a monument in the village square where he had spent his last days.
The monument was simple, a stone slab with a single inscription: “Rosemary for Remembrance.” It became a place where people came to reflect on their own lives and the memories of those they had lost. The story of Moses and Rosemary was passed down through generations, a tale of love, loss, and redemption.
Though Moses had spoken so few words in his later years, his legacy of remembrance lived on. The villagers who had once scorned him now understood the depth of his sorrow and the simplicity of his message. “Rosemary for remembrance” became a saying that reminded people to cherish their loved ones and hold their memories close.
And so, in death, Moses found the peace and connection he had longed for in life. His story became a part of the fabric of the villages he had wandered through, a silent reminder of the power of love and the importance of remembering those who touch our lives, no matter how briefly.
The rosemary bush he had carried was planted near his monument, growing tall and fragrant, a living testament to the man who had carried it. Visitors would often take a sprig, whispering the words, “Rosemary for remembrance,” as they thought of their own loved ones. Moses’s journey had ended, but his message endured, a gentle reminder that love and memory are eternal.
NOTES
- ChatGPT has opted to give the piece a title, although I didn’t actually ask it to. This makes me wonder if its training set contained one or more complete texts bearing this very title, or whether it was using its title-guessing subsystem. We know there is one, because the display has a left sidebar recording all my past sessions. Wholly unasked-for, it has inferred a title for each saved session. Mostly these are acceptable choices, good enough for me to recognise the session they refer to and broadly recall my prompt.
- The text, though correctly spelled with flawless grammar, is not of top quality from a writer’s point-of-view. If critiquing this piece in one of our (WWG) meetings, we would say it is prolix, trite and clichéd, all “tell” and no “show”. Just the sort of register you’d see on a pompous public notice forbidding you to do something. But this is just what you’d expect from an AI that basically boils up the internet and serves you a generic broth, salted and peppered to taste.
I wanted it to try again. I prompted: Write it again in different words. Here’s how it responded:
Rosemary for Remembrance
Moses was known throughout the village as a thrifty, solitary man, living in a modest cottage on the edge of town. His life took a surprising turn one day when he noticed a frail girl named Rosemary sitting on the cobblestones, selling small bouquets of flowers. The sadness in her eyes and her delicate appearance stirred something in him.
“Why are you selling flowers here?” Moses inquired.
“I have no family and no means to support myself,” Rosemary answered quietly.
Seeing a practical solution to his need for companionship and household help, Moses proposed to her right there in the square. He offered no words of love, just a straightforward arrangement. Rosemary, with no better options, accepted his offer, and they were soon married in a simple ceremony.
At first, Rosemary fulfilled her role as Moses had envisioned. She cooked, cleaned, mended his clothes, and tended the garden. However, her health began to deteriorate rapidly. Her bright eyes grew dim, and she struggled to perform her duties. Moses, stubborn and frugal, refused to call a doctor, convincing himself she would recover without costly medical intervention.
But Rosemary did not recover. One morning, she passed away quietly in her sleep. The villagers were outraged, accusing Moses of letting his young wife die due to his stinginess. Their anger only deepened Moses’s profound guilt. He realized too late that he had cared for her deeply in his own way.
Devastated and unable to remain in the village, Moses sold his home and belongings, keeping only a rosemary bush he had purchased with his last bit of money. He distributed the rest of his funds among the villagers and set off as a wandering vagrant.
Carrying the rosemary bush, Moses roamed from village to village. In each marketplace, he stood silently, holding the bush. When people approached him, curious about his strange behavior, he would hand them a sprig of rosemary and say, “Rosemary for remembrance.” It became the only phrase he ever uttered.
Years rolled by, and Moses became a well-known figure in the surrounding villages. His beard grew long and white, and his clothes were worn and tattered. Yet, he continued his silent pilgrimage, the rosemary bush always in hand. His story spread, and he became a symbol of remembrance and regret.
One harsh winter, Moses’s journey came to an end in a small, secluded village. He was found lying peacefully with the rosemary bush still clutched in his hands. The villagers, having heard the tales of the old man, decided to honor him. They erected a simple monument in the village square where he had spent his last days.
The monument bore only one inscription: “Rosemary for Remembrance.” It became a place for people to reflect on their own lives and the memories of those they had lost. The story of Moses and Rosemary became a cherished legend, a poignant reminder of love, loss, and the power of memory.
Though Moses had spoken little in his final years, his legacy of remembrance endured. The villagers who had once judged him harshly came to understand the depth of his sorrow and the simplicity of his message. “Rosemary for remembrance” became a saying that urged people to cherish their loved ones and keep their memories alive.
In death, Moses found the peace and connection he had sought in life. His story became woven into the fabric of the villages he had wandered through, a silent testament to the power of love and memory. The rosemary bush he had carried was planted near his monument, growing tall and fragrant as a living reminder of the man who had carried it.
Visitors often took a sprig, whispering the words, “Rosemary for remembrance,” as they remembered their own loved ones. Moses’s journey had ended, but his message lived on, a gentle reminder that love and memory are eternal.
NOTES
- The text is different, but the themes and tropes are recognisably the same. It’s what you might get if you went through the first version, paraphrasing it sentence-by-sentence.
- But it has elaborated on my original precis, making me wonder if it had some dominant copy in its training set containing the tropes and turns of phrase it comes out with. Maybe they contradicted my prompt precis in places, and the training set has exerted the greater “pull”.
Finally I copied both responses into Pages and melded them, retaining the best bits from each. Then I edited the draft to yield my published version, mainly to rephrase clichés, simplify prolix expressions, and reduce the text to plain language more fitting for a folk tale.
I’ve thrown away the trite summing-up, which I had not requested, substituting my own pithier “moral” to the tale. But I was struck with the detail ChatGPT had chosen to add, such as the fate of the rosemary bush after the old man died. This can in no way be inferred from the precis I prompted CharGPT with. So where did it get the idea from?
The short answer is: cribbed from other samples in its training set. Samples of what? Different versions of the same folk tale? From what’s been revealed about the training set, it is quite possible it contained many versions of the “Rosemary” story. But that should be the case for any other folk tale I could have chosen.
That to me is staggering. It’s almost as hard to believe as supposing ChatGPT to have sufficient sentience to infer a plausible future for the rosemary bush from its “understanding” of the story, plus its knowledge of the nature and cultivation of rosemary bushes. It could simply have dumped the rosemary bush in the dustbin: a far more likely fate, and therefore more likely to have been hit upon, supposing a LLM (Large Language Model) such as ChatGPT to be simply a vast network of conditional probabilities.
To be fair, ChatGPT’s closing paragraphs did give me a start in writing my own, if only as a stalking horse. Maybe that’s the best way for a professional creative writer to use ChatGPT? To me, it’s morally no different from using a spelling checker. You are at liberty to override it if you think you can do better.
Whether or not you think the end-result is sufficiently individuated and creative enough to call my own, and be proud of it, I wouldn’t hope to build my literary reputation on writing of this indifferent quality. I’m only publishing it as a case study in the creative use of AI, viz. to recall and paraphrase a widely-known folk tale in language suitable for telling aloud round the campfire.
Clark Nida. June 2024.
Whitby Writers Group 