I’ll be honest—when I first heard about AI muscling its way into the fantasy writing world, my gut reaction wasn’t exactly heroic. It was more… suspicious tavern patron in the corner, clutching a mug and muttering, “This won’t end well.” 

Fantasy, to me, has always felt deeply human. Messy. Emotional. A little unhinged in the best way. The idea that a machine could wander into that space felt like inviting a golem to a poetry reading.

And yet, here I am, not only using AI but kind of enjoying it.

The strange thing is, AI doesn’t feel like a rival. It feels more like that chaotic side character who occasionally hands you something useful… and occasionally suggests your brooding anti-hero should “consider resolving conflict through interpretive dance.” It’s unpredictable, a bit odd, but surprisingly helpful when you’re stuck staring at a blinking cursor, wondering what your dragon does next.

For me, the biggest shift has been how AI fits into the process, not the product. I’m not asking it to write my stories—I don’t want that. The heart of fantasy, the reason we read it and write it, is that connection between imagination and emotion. AI doesn’t live a life, it doesn’t feel heartbreak, it doesn’t lie awake at 2am replaying conversations from ten years ago. And honestly, that stuff? That’s where the good writing comes from.

But where AI shines is in the gaps. The in-between moments. The “I know something needs to happen here, but my brain has clocked out and gone to make tea” moments.

Sometimes I’ll throw it a half-formed idea—just a scrap of a scene or a vague concept—and it’ll bounce something back that nudges my brain in a new direction. Not better, not finished, just… different. And that’s often all I need. It’s like creative friction. A spark.

Worldbuilding is another weirdly fun space for it. Not because it creates anything groundbreaking, but because it helps me ask better questions. If I’m building a city or a magic system, AI can throw out angles I hadn’t considered. Most of them I’ll ignore. Some I’ll twist into something else entirely. But the conversation itself? That’s the useful part.

There’s also something quietly reassuring about it. Writing fantasy can be a lonely business. You spend hours inside your own head, inventing people who feel more real than the ones texting you. Having something that can respond—even imperfectly—takes the edge off that isolation a bit. It’s not a collaborator, exactly. More like a sounding board that doesn’t get tired of your nonsense.

That said, I think there’s a line. And it matters. If AI starts replacing the messy, human core of storytelling, then we lose something essential. Fantasy isn’t just about dragons and magic systems—it’s about grief, hope, love, fear… all the things machines can’t actually experience.

So for now, I treat AI like a tool. A slightly eccentric one, sure, but still just a tool. It doesn’t tell my stories. It doesn’t feel them. That part stays mine.

But every now and then, when I’m stuck in the weeds of a scene and nothing’s working, it’s oddly comforting to have this strange, digital presence lean over my shoulder and say, “What if you tried this instead?”

I won’t always listen.

But sometimes, it gets me moving again. And in this world—where entire universes live or die on momentum—that’s no small kind of magic.