The Artist and the Algorithm: My Journey with AI, Creativity, and Google’s Game-Changing Tools
March 2025 — If you told me in 2023 that I’d be using artificial intelligence to co-create novels, compose heavy metal tracks inspired by Norse gods, and produce podcast episodes with mythic resonance, I might’ve smiled politely and returned to my studio. And yet, here I am—neck-deep in algorithms, storytelling, and sonic landscapes—wielding AI not as a replacement, but as a powerful creative companion.
My journey with AI began humbly: a few exploratory chats with ChatGPT and Gemini in early 2024. At the time, I was skeptical. These tools were functional, yes—but they lacked soul. I didn’t want a shortcut. I wanted a spark. I wanted something that could keep up with the pace of my ideas without flattening my voice or replacing it. It wasn’t long before I learned: when used with purpose, AI doesn’t dilute creativity. It can amplify it.
Writing with a Machine that Listens (Mostly)
The first turning point came during the rewrite of my Josephine Marlin series, particularly the novel A Friend in Need. Shifting the narrative from first-person to third-person limited was no small feat. I used AI tools like LM Studio, linked to a private database of my writing, to test voice and consistency. But even when the AI output was grammatically perfect, it missed the nuance, rhythm, and idiosyncrasies of my prose. Still, it helped organize ideas, structure pacing, and serve as a beta reader when I needed one.
This delicate interplay—between my voice and the machine’s logic—became a recurring theme. The AI could scaffold ideas. I had to furnish them.
Metal, Myth, and Machine
As my writing projects evolved, so did my music. My band, Wrecked and Ready, began work on Valhalla, an album rooted in Norse mythology and heavy metal storytelling. The songs weren’t just compositions—they were narrative arcs with thunderous guitars and Odin’s shadow looming in every line.
AI tools like Krea and Udio became part of my sound design process. I’d feed them sketches, themes, and references, and they’d help with refining tonal quality, structure, and production alignment. But the emotional core—the heartbeat—that still had to come from me.
This week’s release of THUNDER GOD’S MIGHT and FREYJA’S LAMENT reaffirmed that belief. Both tracks are dripping with mythological might and lyrical poetry. And while AI assisted with early layout and arrangement, it couldn’t replicate the fire in the vocals or the ache behind Freyja’s lament. That had to come from lived experience and reverence for the stories I tell.
The (Failed) Gemini Visual Experiment
Of course, not everything AI touches turns to gold. This week, I trialed Google’s Gemini for visual content—specifically, to create album artwork. Let’s just say... it didn’t go well.
Gemini struggled with compositional cohesion, and the resulting images lacked text accuracy and artistic depth. They felt sterile—technically sound, but emotionally void. It was a reminder that, at least for now, visual creativity still demands a human touch.
But here’s the thing: I don’t expect this problem will last. AI is evolving rapidly, and I’m not here to throw in the towel after one bad prompt. I’m here to shape how these tools evolve—by pushing them, feeding them better inputs, and documenting their shortcomings until they finally rise to meet the challenge.
Enter: Google Canvas and Notebook LM
Just as my frustration with Gemini peaked, two announcements from Google reignited my optimism. Both Google Canvas and Notebook LM received major updates this week—and these updates speak directly to creators like me.
Canvas: From Chaos to Clarity
The new Canvas update offers a streamlined visual workflow that lets you map, visualize, and revise projects in real-time. It’s no longer just a brainstorming tool—it’s a dynamic storyboard, a content matrix, and a sandbox for multi-modal creativity. For someone juggling albums, novels, and podcast series simultaneously, this tool is pure gold.
Already, I’ve used Canvas to draft the production flow of the next Songs for the Goddess track. I was able to chart verse progression, color-code vocal shifts, and drop in references from old Norse myths—all within a single collaborative space. No more scattered post-its or disconnected drafts.
Notebook LM: A Muse That Actually Reads
Notebook LM’s latest update is where things get really exciting. With enhanced contextual awareness and memory, it can now digest entire databases of your previous work, recognize recurring themes, and suggest edits that align with your tone. Not just any tone—your tone.
Imagine an AI that knows your world as well as you do, that can pull up relevant plot points, parallel themes, and previously used motifs from past projects. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to having a co-writer who actually pays attention.
For me, this means less time cross-referencing lore across the Josephine Marlin universe, and more time deep in the flow of writing. It’s a way to stay creatively expansive without becoming logistically overwhelmed.
Beyond the Tools: The Philosophy of Creative AI
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: AI is a tool. It’s not the mind behind the story or the soul behind the melody. What it can be, though, is a brilliant extension of your creative will—if you take the time to teach it who you are.
That’s why I don’t use AI “out of the box.” I mold it. I tweak it. I fine-tune prompts and rework training data until it becomes something closer to a mirror than a machine.
And yes, it still makes mistakes. It still misunderstands nuance. But then again, so do humans. The difference is—I get to edit the AI.
Looking Ahead
With Google’s recent updates, AI-assisted creativity is on the brink of something transformative. For artists like me—who straddle myth, melody, and machine—it’s a thrilling time. The tools are catching up to the vision.
Still, as I move forward, I’m holding fast to one simple truth: I create with AI, not for it. The spark will always be mine. The story will always begin with me. And no matter how advanced the algorithms become, they will never replace the lived experience behind every line I write, every note I sing, and every legend I resurrect.
Let the machines learn. I’ll keep creating.