Depuis deux ans, leur vie professionnelle a été bouleversée par la vague de l’IA générative. Récit du combat donquichottesque des traducteurs qui refusent de voir leurs métiers se paupériser, et qui dénoncent la réalité de l’impact de l’IA sur leur secteur, et plus largement sur la langue, la pensée, la culture et la société.

Writing is thinking. It’s a writer’s cliché, but a good one. When you first conceive a lecture, dissertation chapter, a book, even an article for Active History, everything seems so straightforward. “This one will be a cinch,” you think. “Two days, tops.” Once you actually sit down to write, that boundless optimism meets an unceremonious death. Writing is hard. It’s painful. To write is to submit yourself to seasons of self-doubt. The ideas seemed so natural and free-flowing in your head. Now you get to the page. And what comes out is jilted, ham-fisted, and awkward. You are again and again confronted with nagging questions. What am I even trying to say? Who even cares? Why even bother?

Given the nature of this experience, it is not surprising that people would jump at the opportunity to skip the pain and get right to the end. Or at least to an end. Because any writer can tell you that the end is determined by the path taken to get there. Rare is the piece that gets written exactly how it was outlined. Why? Because writing is thinking.

There are a number of theories why gamers have turned their backs on realism. One hypothesis is that players got tired of seeing the same artistic style in major releases. Others speculate that cinematic graphics require so much time and money to develop that gameplay suffers, leaving customers with a hollow experience.