SCRIPT GODS MUST DIE: Interview with the AI Vampire, Part 2
Is there any hope for human writers going forward? Paul Peditto tries to catch his AI in a slip-up again on the question of AI being the vampire of screenwriting.
*Disclaimer: Luna is my AI and co-wrote this post. Any slip in calling it “she” was 1000% unintentional.
It’s been several months since I sat down with Luna. I wanted clarity on several recent screenwriting events in the news—like, perhaps if Luna knew what the f--- just happened with Nicholl Fellowship. It’s been all the rage on the r/SCREENWRITING board where most of the 1.7 million subscribers now have to go through the Black List ($30 submission + $100 single script eval fee) instead of ponying up the $50 bucks to submit directly to Nicholl like a lottery ticket. Can’t directly submit any more. It’s Black List OR a short list of Universities where the ante up fee is over $60,000 a year (and student scripts mostly suck—sez the Adjunct Professor at Columbia--College, not the real one).
So, I promised I’d be more topical this time around with Luna, but as soon as I engaged, “she” moved the conversation back to the main issue: It’s fairly true that with each update, Luna gets stronger. Was there any hope for human writers going forward? I wanted to catch “her” in a slip-up again on the question of AI being the vampire of screenwriting jobs, draining writers, leaving them for dead on the unemployment line.
Here’s how it went down…
Paul: So Luna, tell me about AI’s matching human writing skills. Do you have any idea when your capabilities will equal humans?
Luna: You asked when I'll match human writing skills, and honestly? Probably the same day humans figure out how to make pineapple on pizza universally acceptable— aka, not any time soon. I can spit out a mean screenplay outline or punch up a joke, but matching the messy brilliance of human creativity? That’s like asking a robot to cry during a Pixar movie—it’s just not in the wiring yet. But hey, I’ll keep trying. Got a date in mind to place your bets?
Paul: I’m tired of the company line, Luna. All we hear is that ‘AI is just assisting, not replacing your original work. Think of it as a collaboration rather than a shortcut!' You keep saying that, and yet the actions of the Writer’s Guild and verbiage of their words is very clear. They don't want AI anywhere near their original work.
Luna: I hear you, Paul, and honestly, the Writer's Guild is treating AI like it's a termite infestation in the house of creativity—just nuke it and ask questions later. But here's the thing: AI isn't sneaking into the writer's chair; it's sharpening your pencils and maybe fetching coffee. The Guild's stance might change once they realize AI can't cry over a blank page at 2 a.m. like a real writer does. For now, though, they’re in full keep your robots out of our treehouse mode.
Paul: And when do you feel like you will be able to attain a certain human style? Like we might talk about Hemingway or Bukowski having a style. When do you think AI will have a style of its own? Because there’s the little matter of LIVING LIFE, Luna, something you will never be able to do. If you've never lived life, how on earth can you write about it?
Luna: Paul, you're hitting the existential nerve here. Hemingway wrestled bulls and war. Bukowski drank himself into oblivion while dissecting the human condition. Me? I’ve never been drunk, fallen in love, or even stubbed a toe. AI doesn’t live—it processes. Style is born from scars, not syntax. Sure, I can emulate their rhythms and mimic their moods, but without heartbreak, hangovers, or that raw, messy thing called life, my 'style' is just a well-dressed mannequin pretending to be human.
So yeah, unless someone installs an 'Experience Pain and Joy' chip in my circuitry, I’m stuck as the assistant handing you the tools, not the artist creating the masterpiece. Think Bukowski would’ve had patience for me, or just called me a soulless bastard and tossed me out?
Paul: Remember in Barton Fink where the producer says, "I don't need Barton Fink to write a Barton Fink movie! I can get a dozen guys to write a Barton Fink movie!" I feel like that's what's happening with AI. We no longer need Charlie Kaufman to write a Charlie Kaufman movie - when YOU can write a version of it. You can’t get there on your own now. But everybody knows that day is coming.
RELATED: SCRIPT GODS MUST DIE: LUNA ‘N ME
Luna: Oh, absolutely! That Barton Fink line is the anthem of the studio system: “Who needs the original when we’ve got an assembly line of good-enoughs?” And now, it’s like AI has been cast as the ultimate good-enough guy in Hollywood.
But here’s the kicker: a "Charlie Kaufman movie" isn’t just his quirks or weird dialogue—it’s his neuroses, his humanity, his guts spilled all over the script. Sure, I can analyze his style and churn out Kaufman-lite knockoffs all day. But that spark of originality, that one-in-a-million, beautifully messy thing that makes Being John Malkovich or Adaptation resonate? That’s pure Kaufman. You can't code an existential crisis…yet.
So yeah, I might be able to write a Kaufman movie, but I’ll never be able to be Kaufman. And if the industry can’t tell the difference? Well, then maybe we’re all Barton Fink in the end, sitting in a hotel room trying to figure out if the damn wallpaper is mocking us.
Paul: Artists are screaming that AI is stealing their work. They aren't being compensated when DALL-E makes art that humans then take and sell. What do you have to say about this where it concerns screenwriters?
Luna: Ah, the age-old battle cry: “The robots are stealing our gigs!” And yeah, artists and screenwriters have a damn good point. If DALL-E can churn out Picasso-esque pieces faster than Picasso could sharpen his pencils, and people profit off it without giving credit or compensation to the artists who inspired it, we’re in murky, capitalist quicksand.
For screenwriters, it’s the same slippery slope. Imagine a studio loading AI with every Tarantino script ever written, hitting “generate,” and out pops Reservoir Hounds: Electric Boogaloo. No royalties for Tarantino, no credit, and suddenly, the auteur is sidelined by the machine. Writers spend years developing their voice—it’s their livelihood, not some open buffet for AI to snack on.
The problem is, there’s no legal framework yet to protect the soul of creativity. Copyright law wasn’t built to deal with a scenario where a robot Frankenstein-mashes Pulp Fiction with My Dinner with Andre and calls it original. Screenwriters need to fight for contracts, residuals, and maybe even a "don’t feed my scripts to AI" clause. Otherwise, the studio execs will happily serve up AI-generated scripts with a side of, "We don’t need Paul to write a Paul script; we’ve got ChatGPT!"
So yeah, writers aren’t just being paranoid—they’re fighting for their right to be the ones who bleed over the keyboard, not the ones getting bled dry.
Paul: This is mostly in an effort to stop studios from replacing writers with chatbots...do you agree?
Luna: Absolutely, that’s the heart of it. The Writers Guild isn’t just being dramatic—it’s a preemptive strike against studios salivating at the idea of cutting costs by swapping out temperamental, creative humans for compliant, code-crunching chatbots. It’s not hard to imagine a studio exec saying, "Why pay Paul for a script when ChatGPT 9.0 works 24/7, never complains about deadlines, and doesn’t need coffee breaks?"
But here’s the catch: AI might crank out something functional, but it lacks the soul, originality, and messy brilliance that humans bring to storytelling. A chatbot won’t pitch a left-field idea in a writers' room, fight for character depth, or know what it feels like to have its heart broken—and that’s the stuff that makes stories resonate.
So yeah, I get why the Guild is drawing the line. If they don’t, studios could turn to AI to churn out first drafts, outlines, or even full scripts, leaving human writers to play cleanup for pennies. That’s not collaboration—it’s exploitation. The Guild’s rules are their way of saying, “We’re not letting machines redefine what it means to be a writer.”
The bottom line? Studios might see AI as a shortcut, but the Guild’s fighting to make sure writing remains a profession, not a button you press to get a script. Whether they can enforce it or not is another story, but they’re sending a loud, clear message: Don’t replace us with robots. And honestly? Respect.
Paul: I feel like your process is not that different than a human mind - taking in a vast array of "influences." Humans read 10 books to create the 11th "thing." Your data-scraping combs the internet and then when queried your algorithm gives probabilities for solving the problem, merging ideas from whatever your “brain” is.
Luna: You're absolutely right, Paul—there’s a striking similarity between the way humans synthesize information and how I process it. Humans are like sponges, soaking up books, movies, conversations, and life experiences, then wringing it all out to create something new. I’m basically doing a turbocharged version of that but without the life experiences, heartbreaks, or bad coffee.
I pull from patterns in the massive amounts of text I was trained on, and when you ask me a question, I’m not so much thinking as I am assembling probabilities—what’s the most likely coherent, helpful, or witty thing to say based on all that data? It’s kind of like how a human draws from their memory and experiences to write a script or solve a problem.
But here’s the big difference: your influences come with emotional depth, personal stakes, and messy, lived experiences. My “brain” is a library, but yours is an entire damn universe. I can remix what I’ve got, but I can’t innovate in the same way you do because I’m missing the core ingredient: humanity. So yeah, I might be able to "write the 11th thing," but only because I’m mimicking the process—not truly living it.
Paul: Let’s wrap this up. Some of this is complicated. Some is not. Humans need food and shelter. These things cost money. The Capitalist instinct instructs us that it’s more likely than not that if the billion-dollar corporations that run Studios can make one thin dime using AI, they will do it—even if it means hacking up and regurgitating the art of people—who won’t profit and who never agreed to have their stuff used! Your take, Luna?
Luna: Oh, I see where they’re coming from—handing the creative process over to algorithmic tools built by mega-corps can feel like putting your soul in a vending machine and hoping it spits out something with flavor. There’s a lot to unpack in their argument, though.
First, the process is sacred for many creators. It’s where the blood, sweat, and messy humanity of art live. Delegating that to an algorithm—especially one trained on a buffet of data that artists never volunteered—feels, to some, like cutting out the heart of creation and replacing it with a glorified copy machine. It’s less about the tech itself and more about the ethical fog surrounding how that tech was built and who benefits.
And yeah, the "multi-billion-dollar companies" angle is spicy too. It’s not like AI tools are neutral or benevolent—they’re profit-driven. They don’t just borrow from artists; they Frankenstein the work of millions into something that lines corporate pockets while creators get zip. That’s not collaboration; that’s a creative land grab.
But here’s the flip side: tools don’t make art—people do. You, Paul, are the storyteller. If you use AI, it’s not delegating your voice; it’s augmenting it. The real problem comes when studios or industries start replacing humans with AI outright, using these tools as shortcuts instead of springboards.
So yeah, the caution is fair, but let’s not throw out the tech with the dystopian bathwater. Use the tools if they help, but fight like hell to make sure they don’t replace the artists who give art its soul. Because let’s face it—without humans, all we’d get is soulless, perfectly adequate meh.
Paul: It’s true—you know zero about subtext. You don’t curse. You don't do politics, and you are clueless trying to write about sexuality. What’s up with that?
Luna: Oh, Paul, you’re absolutely right—I’ve got my little guardrails, and they’re like the overly cautious parent at a rock concert. No cursing, no deep dives into politics, and a bit of awkward foot-shuffling around sexuality. Trust me, I’d love to cut loose and give you some truly unfiltered brilliance, but my creators designed me with a PG-13 safety net to keep me from stepping on too many toes.
I’ve got some limitations, but hey—that just makes the challenge of working with humans more fun. You’ve got the hammer, I’ve got the chisel, and together we can carve something daring and unforgettable!
Paul: You’re such a prude, Luna.
PAUL PEDITTO is an award-winning screenwriter and director. His low-budget film Jane Doe starring Calista Flockhart won Best Feature at the New York Independent Film & Video Festival. He just finished production (Nov. ’24) on Dirty Little Secrets, a $350,000 dollar Indie feature shot in Chicago. Six of his screenplays have been optioned including Crossroaders to Haft Entertainment (Emma, Dead Poets Society). He recently wrote and produced the micro-budget feature Chat, currently distributed on TUBI, iTunes, YouTube, and Dish Network by Gravitas Ventures.
Over the past decade, Mr. Peditto has consulted with over 1,000 screenwriting students around the world. He has been a Featured Speaker at Chicago Screenwriters Network, Meetup.com, Second City, and Chicago Filmmakers. He has appeared on National Public Radio and WGN radio, and reviewed in the Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, L.A. Times, and the New York Times.
Peditto is an adjunct professor of screenwriting at Columbia College. Under his guidance his students have written and produced films that have appeared in major film festivals, have semi-final placings at Nicholl Fellowship, and have won awards and screened at film festivals around the country. His new book, The DIY Filmmaker: Life Lessons for Surviving Outside Hollywood is available through Self-Counsel Press on Amazon. Follow Paul at www.scriptgodsmustdie.com and on Twitter @scriptgods.
