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Welcome to Stories Podcast.
I'm your host, Amanda Weldon.
Today's story is called Jill Henry, an original story written for you by Daniel Hines.
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Jill Henry Once upon a time, there was a girl named Jill Henry.
She was in fifth grade, sort of average height with sort of average hair, but she always wore bright colors and a big smile and people were happy to see her.
Good morning, she'd say to her friends on the bus each day on the way to school.
They'd all shout Jill at her and they'd collapse into their seats, giggling and chatting all the way to class.
In class, Jill did okay at math, and she liked to read, but mostly the books she chose herself.
Her best and favorite subjects were what she saw as the creative stuff, like art and music and theater.
For art, Jill's favorite thing to do was paint.
She liked all the bright colors the chunky tubes, the egg carton palettes with their little cups of blue and yellow and electric pink.
She liked how the paint smelled and the grease-smooth feel of it as she spread it across the page.
She even liked how it flecked onto her clothes and left a little stippled dot pattern.
Stippled was a word Jill had learned from her mom to describe the paint stains on all her laundry.
What should we paint today?
She asked her friend Livvy as they sat down on their stools for art.
I'm going to do a self-portrait, Livvy said, squeezing an earthy cocoa onto her palette.
There's no mirror, Jill pointed out.
I know what I look like, Livvy said.
What are you going to paint?
The sun was so warm this morning, Jill said.
Winter was so long and chilly and the sun today felt like a big stretch after you fall asleep all cramped up on the couch.
So, you're going to paint the sun?
Livvy asked, twirling her own brush in the paint.
No, said Jill.
I'm going to paint the feeling it gave me.
Cool, said Livvy.
Need any red?
Oh yeah, pass it here, Jill said.
And she filled her own egg carton palette and got to work.
By the end of class, Livvy had given up on her self-portrait and turned it into a puffy dog, and Jill had a page filled with streaks of warm colors, one over the next with swirls and lines, and a little picture of a girl in the middle of it all.
Yours is so cute, Jill said to Livvy.
Yours makes me feel warm, Livvy smiled back.
Waste of time, said Sam, a boy who sat nearby.
What? said Jill.
How is it a waste of time?
My AI can do it better and faster, he said.
Watch this.
He typed into his phone to generate a cute, fluffy dog.
One popped up right away, and it was definitely better done than Livvy's.
But Jill thought Livvy's was cuter.
Then he typed again and showed Jill a beautiful oil painting.
It was of a woman standing in rays of sun in orange and pinks and yellows and other shades the school supplies never had.
Jill looked from the AI image to her painting and wanted to cry.
The AI one looked like a real adult had painted it, and Sam had made it in a second.
Whatever, she said.
Yeah, said Livvy.
I like Jill's better.
You're nuts, said Sam.
And then the bell rang and they all packed up.
Jill was bothered by the AI painting, but tried to put it out of her mind.
Luckily, she had music class next, and that always cheered her up.
She walked into the big piano room where they had class and found her friend Sebi at the piano.
He saw her walk in and started playing heart and soul.
It was his standard music class greeting, since the teacher had taught them the song earlier that year.
Without saying anything, Jill slid onto the piano bench and played the harmony.
She came in slowly and a little stuttered, but she picked up the rhythm as she went.
And soon, they almost sounded good.
Okay, everyone, said the teacher.
Today you're going to work with your partner and write a little song.
Use what we've learned about melody and chord progressions and put together something short and fun.
Jill and Sebi were excited and started talking through ideas.
After some back and forth, they settled on one of their mutual loves, pickles.
They had found out one day at lunch when they both had huge tangy dill pickles in pouches and the other kids thought they were gross for sipping the pickle juice.
Sebi was better at the piano so he found a good order of chords, while Jill worked on the melody and the lyrics.
Twenty minutes later, the teacher offered up the floor for anyone who wanted to perform their song.
Of course, Jill dragged Sebi out, and they did their pickle song for the class.
It got good laughs and a couple of people even clapped along, leaving Jill and Sebi flushed and smiling.
Later at lunch she and Sebi were sitting with their other friend Tasha, who had been in the music class too.
I loved your pickle song, she said.
I don't like pickles that much, but it gave me the idea to do one about tomatoes.
That's awesome, said Jill.
Can you sing it for us?
Oh, I can't sing or write like you, Tasha said.
I had my AI do it.
But listen, it's so good.
She played them a song on her phone.
It had a full punk band behind it and a choir of people all singing perfectly on key about tomatoes.
Their friends at the lunch table all laughed and said it was good.
Jill smiled, but inside she felt an ugly twist.
First painting, now music.
Even the things she thought she was good at were being done better and faster by AI.
She took a deep breath.
It was okay.
Theater was that afternoon and no matter how good AI on the phone was, the phones weren't about to get up on stage and start dancing.
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Good news everyone, said the director when Jill got on stage for rehearsal.
I used AI to redo our choreography.
Now it's going to be better than ever.
Jill groaned, throwing her head back.
Now even the teachers were in on it.
By the time theater was over and she got on the late bus home, she was in what could only be described as a very bad mood.
She walked into the house, chucked her backpack down by her shoes and slouched into the living room.
There, she plopped onto the couch and turned on the TV, mindlessly scrolling through options.
Uh, hey kiddo, said her dad, poking his head in.
Everything okay?
Usually I at least get a hello, I'm home.
Hello, I'm home, Jill mumbled, and Dad laughed, sitting next to her on the couch.
Okay, what's up? he said.
You never come home and throw yourself in front of the TV.
What about that painting you were working on yesterday?
You had collaged a bunch of stuff on there and it's all dry now for you, and What's the point of painting?
Um, so that it gets painted? said Dad.
Jill sat up.
No, I mean, what's the point?
Anything I can do, AI can do it better.
Why should I struggle and learn and try when someone else can just do it instantly?
She told him about her troubles at school that day.
Dad sighed and rolled his shoulders like he did when he thought hard.
So, two things, he said.
First of all, you've always seen me play guitar at night, right?
Right.
And I'm not very good.
You're good, Dad, Jill said.
You know all the songs I want to sing, and you barely ever make a mistake.
Dad laughed and smiled.
I'm fine, but I'll never be a big famous musician, and that's okay.
What I like is to learn songs I like, sing them with my daughter, and relax by noodling around.
Okay, said Jill, sensing there was a point she was supposed to be getting.
There's a quote that says, comparison is the thief of joy.
Do you get what that's saying?
Jill thought about it for a moment and then shook her head.
It means if you're always comparing yourself to others, you'll never be happy.
There is always going to be someone better than you, always.
But art, life, isn't about being the best.
It's about enjoying yourself and finding fulfillment.
Now the computers will make stuff faster, and because it's so fast it'll make a lot of it.
But who cares?
That stuff has no humanity, no soul, and computers can't say anything that humans haven't already said.
That's literally how AI learned, by stealing art that humans already made.
Really? said Jill.
It just stole things from people?
Did it pay them at least?
Nope, Dad said.
Well, that doesn't sound fair.
It's really not, Dad said, smiling gently.
Jill, you have a big brain and a big heart and you'll make something new, unique to you, unique to the world, and leave us all richer for it.
All the AI can do is take what you make and spin it over and over again like leftovers.
Jill felt a little lighter.
Yeah, that makes sense.
Both the painting and the song had been good, but both had been based on her ideas.
And here's the other thing, and frankly, it's the more important thing to remember.
Jill leaned forward now.
What is it?
Art is just as much for you as it is for anyone else, he said.
When you do something creative, you learn about yourself.
You grow as a person.
The reward is the feeling in here, he said, tapping Jill's heart.
The result, the painting or song or whatever you share, that's you being generous.
The real reward happens inside.
Every time, we try to make something that has never existed before, whether that's a finger painting or a song about pickles.
We're growing as people.
Yeah, said Jill, forgetting she was upset now.
Yeah, that's right.
So, yeah.
The guitars aren't disappearing, the canvases are still here, and so are the stages.
Make music, make art, put on shows with your friends, for your friends.
The people who keep creating keep their individuality alive, even when it's easier not to.
They're the people who will run the world.
The people who use AI instead of their own brains, who outsource all their fun and creative thinking to a computer.
They're just going to get more and more reliant until they're like the guys from that movie, complaining and floating around in TV chairs.
Remember that one?
Jill laughed and nodded.
Well, between the two, I know what kind of person I'd rather be, even if it's harder.
What about you?
Jill sat up and shut off the TV.
I did have an idea for that collage, she said.
Do you think you could help me spray paint a little?
Sure, Dad smiled.
Let me get the stuff and I'll meet you out back.
Awesome, Jill said, jumping up to get her art.
Her brain was swirling with ideas and she was hungry to get started.
The End.
Do you ever feel discouraged when something you make doesn't turn out the way you thought it would?
Me too.
How do you keep going?
Talk to your grown-up about it.
Today's story, Jill Henry, was an original story written for you by Daniel Hines.
It was edited and produced for you by Ali Hines and performed for you by me, Amanda Weldon.
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