Is there any point to writing online anymore?

This is my first blog/newsletter post in six months; and my last post was about why I haven't written much lately¹, which feels so meta. But, in 2026, this theme may also be capital M Meta².

My prolonged silence recently made more sense as I was listening to David Gerrard go on and on about how much of today's web traffic is generated by AI bots scraping sites for even the slightest bit of fresh data they can gobble up to later regurgitate via their masters' digital slop factories³.

I was already aware of this scenario, but something in Gerrard's delivery brought it all to light: I've spent these last few months asking if it's worth the trouble of writing online anymore. Despite what the arrival of this new post may lead you to think, I'm no closer to having the answer than before I watched Gerrard's video.

I've rarely had the privilege of writing for money. And, when I did, the money wasn't all that and a bag of chips, as it came nowhere near replacing the income my oil and gas skills afford me. So, it's safe to say that most of my writing has been for the joy of it. Or, more accurately, it was always about the chance of connecting with another real human being.

My blogs and social media accounts have never been popular. Hardly anyone pays attention. I don't say that out of bitterness--only as a recognition of fact--because, again, I wasn't writing because a ton of people were paying attention; I was writing because of the chance that someone somewhere might read my words and relate to them. Despite growing up a straight, white cisgender male in the good ol' U.S. of A, I know all too well the feeling of being alone or othered, so I'm aware of the value in merely feeling seen, heard, or understood.

But, it's hard to find the motivation to write when you worry whether there's even a chance real people will be able to find--let alone care--about what you have to say.

As I've already said, my writing has yet to make me rich. (Some may say for good reason.) And, because I strive to see the nuance in every situation, I sometimes seemingly find myself at odds with everyone. That's a lonely place to be. And, while I understand the grifter playbook, it's hardly a strategy I seek for myself, so I don't have a built-in audience waiting for my next piece so that they can exclaim YAS QUEEN!!!! before they even click the link to my post.

All that to say that, for me, the human connection resulting from sharing ourselves is the reason for me to write. If my writing can't feed my family, it can at least feed my artist soul.

Or can it, in 2026 and beyond?

We can argue that question until we're blue in the face--and I do think it's one worth digging into.

But then, once we have our answer (no matter which direction we ultimately lean toward), we should then follow up with another question: Does it matter?

Because, the truth is, that anything I'm worried about in regard to writing online has already been an issue. The greatest difference is scale. AI can do so many of the terrible things humans have been doing for years (scamming, stealing intellectual property, distributing misinformation, harassing others), but AI can do all these things at a scale humans on their own can only dream of.

I can't scale my writing to keep up with the machines. I know I can't, and I won't even try. I say this to be a realist rather than a defeatist: I cannot beat the machines of Big Tech at their own game.

So what is one to do?

Play your own game. One that the machines can't win.

The game of being human. A game we've forgotten the joy and the benefit of playing.

The game that the suits and the executives and the money people have spent the last few decades doing all they can to eliminate all record of.

So many defenders of AI will say that the machines can do certain jobs just as well as humans. Depending on the scenario, that claim is very much true. But, those same defenders miss a crucial point: AI's ability to replace humans is by design, and the seeds were planted long ago.

Big Business has spent decades eroding away at workers' ability to make decisions and at worker autonomy. Far too many bosses care nothing about a job getting done right--they care more that their employees followed orders like good little worker bees.

You know who has no problem with the issues mentioned in the paragraph above? Or, more accurately, what has no problem with those issues?

AI.

Machines.

Circuit boards and processors.

Sure, plenty of real-life flesh-and-blood people are happy to comply as well. But there are also those who speak up when they see something wrong. Or they ask pesky little questions we don't think of when we're drafting our updated business strategies in the comforts of our plush boardrooms. Some have the audacity to ask questions so that they might understand rather than just go with the flow, because they've seen firsthand the dangers of being too agreeable and then being forced to take the blame for following a terrible plan they knew was destined to fail from the beginning.

Compliance can be a terrible strategy for humans, but it's the only strategy for machines.

While I can't control what machines may do with my writings, I don't write for machines. I've tried it at times--because it was my job, and also for personal experimentation--and I hate it. Writing for machines sucks the life out of me.

But few things are as energizing and inspiring as having a real-life flesh-and-blood human relate to something you put out into the ether, never to know when or if anyone else will ever see it.

Does that magic still exist today? Will it still exist tomorrow?

Ultimately, I don't know.

But I hope so.