What Happens When AI Takes All the Jobs?

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Many people are scared. AI is taking over the economy — especially online. Computer science majors are complaining, writers are worried, Hollywood filmmakers have voiced their concerns, and countless other industries will soon be affected too.

Some are asking the big question: What happens when AI literally takes all the jobs?

Taxi drivers will disappear once self-driving technology is perfected — maybe even within this decade. Human doctors might become obsolete. There’s even an argument that psychologists are replaceable today, as their job is purely language based which AI can already do. The same could be said for teachers, copywriters, journalists, and many more professions.

At some point, a combination of AI and robotics might make human manual labor a thing of the past as well. Within twenty years, construction workers, plumbers, carpenters, and similar trades could all be automated.

Let’s assume this scenario unfolds, and all jobs are done cheaper, better, and safer by AI and robots. The question then becomes: How will humans pay for food?

In such a future, we must remember that all work would be done without labor costs. Human workers require payment — you have to give someone a few dollars to clean a toilet, or they’ll never do it. But a robot will do it simply because it’s programmed to.

The same logic applies to every other job. Robots don’t need monetary incentives; they just need the right code. Therefore, an economy without human labor would be an economy without labor costs.

As a result, products in that economy would become far cheaper — and many might even be completely free.

The real question, then, is not how goods and services are produced, but who gets access to them, and how the necessary resources are distributed. Robots could mine lithium and manufacture batteries at virtually no cost, but who decides how that lithium — and the finished batteries — are distributed?

The good news is that this might not be a problem for politicians or business leaders to solve. If AI and robots are more efficient at every job, they would also be better politicians and business managers.

Thus, in this thought experiment, it would ultimately be the robots themselves deciding the best way to distribute resources and products to humans (at some point even in a fully cost-free economy).

How Long Should Blog Posts Be?

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Short answer: As long as they need to be — and not a single word longer.

Long answer:
It seems that blog posts between 2,000 and 4,000 words tend to rank best on Google. So if you’re writing primarily for search engines, that’s a good target range. And it’s the reason the pro-bloggers write primarily posts of that length.

Of course, sometimes the topic naturally determines how long your article should be. If you’re writing an opinion piece titled “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie” you could end it in a single sentence:

Yes, and Yippee-Ki-Ya, motherfucker.

But if your article is titled “How to Write a Book,” even 4,000 words might not be enough.

My approach is to write for readers first, myself second, and search engines last. That means I focus on giving the reader exactly what the title promises — as clearly and concisely as possible. Adding unnecessary words or paragraphs just to please Google is counterproductive. So I keep things short and simple.

Take Derek Sivers, for example. I like his blog because he follows the same philosophy. Some of his posts are shorter than 300 words, yet they still deliver great ideas.

For the real-time biography blogging niche I’ve defined for my writing on this site, my goal is to give you a quick look into my work and progress that usually contains one idea at a time. Hence, short posts are totally fine, and even better than 1,000 words of rambling.

On the first day of every month, I publish a longer post titled “Progress Report.” It’s already grown to about 1,000 words per post — and naturally, it’ll become longer over time as my Author in Progress project develops.

However, posts like the one you’re reading right now usually range from 300 to 500 words. And I believe that’s enough to deliver what the title promises.

You tell me if I’m wrong.

Write What Makes You Proud

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There are writers who rely on industrial processes to produce their work. I’ve read that R.L. Stine uses an entire team of ghostwriters. Erle Stanley Gardner did the same with Perry Mason, and there are surely countless other famous authors who have teams of writers, editors, and creatives working for them—without us ever knowing.

AI will only accelerate this way of producing stories. It will also give rise to hustlers who see writing purely as a means to make a quick buck.

A while back, I heard about a guy who mass-produced short erotic stories for Amazon just to make money. He wrote two or three short stories on weekends and sold each for $2.99—a price apparently acceptable for short fiction in that genre. His stories were mostly about tall, heroic men saving damsels in distress, or about vampires and werewolves in steamy fantasy-erotica subgenres. One day, he started making YouTube videos, and it turned out he was an old, bald, overweight, divorced man in his sixties writing for the target demographic of bored housewives. If it sells, it’s fine, I guess.

But does it make him happy?

For a while, I actually considered copying his business model—churning out a few short stories in that genre every week just to make some easy money. But the moment I started, I felt awful about it. I hate writing those kinds of scenes. I don’t enjoy reading explicit fiction. And I couldn’t bring myself to charge $2.99 for 3,000 words of something I wouldn’t even read myself. As simple as it looked, it made my skin crawl. You could offer me a million dollars a year, and I still wouldn’t do it. I just can’t.

Yesterday, I wrote a short horror story about rats infesting a house. I’ll mostly give it away for free. On the days when Amazon won’t let me set the price to zero, I’ll charge less than a dollar for the 4,000-word story. It will never make me rich. It won’t pay my rent. I might make less than minimum wage for it over a lifetime. But I enjoyed writing it. And when I enjoy writing something, I’m pretty sure that some people will enjoy reading it too.

When you love what you do, you do it well. You want to look back at it and feel proud of what you’ve created. But when you write something you don’t care about—and would never read yourself—you’ll just do the bare minimum to get it done.

R.L. Stine clearly loves the genre he writes in. So did Erle Stanley Gardner. They both became successful because of that passion like many other authors. The hustlers will not. Some will make money here and there, sure. But none will be able to look back and say proudly: “I did that, and I’m proud of it.” And none will be happy with what they’ve created, just like the guy writing mass produced short erotica.

Adolescence (Weekly Movie/Show Review #1)

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I’ve decided to dedicate one day of the week to reviewing movies or shows. My mainstream media consumption has dropped drastically since the early 2000s, but I still occasionally watch the stuff everyone seems to be talking about.

As an author in progress, I’m naturally interested in how other storytellers design their characters, develop their plots, and craft their dialogue. So I try to make it a habit to watch at least one or two films a week—even when the major sports leagues are in full swing, work is demanding, and social media is having its latest heyday.

A few days ago, Adolescence was back in the headlines after winning several awards. I can certainly understand the recognition for the young actor who played the boy—he was excellent, especially in the episode where he’s interviewed by the female detective.

But the overall praise the show receives feels somewhat manufactured.

Adolescence tackles one of the main socio-political narratives that the establishment seems eager to promote: “Men are bad—therefore, we need more state control to correct them.”

The show is set in England, where women are statistically far more likely to be threatened by the consequences of mass migration. To avoid that uncomfortable topic, the creators chose to make the killer a white boy—effectively inverting real-world crime statistics.

Instead of sparking a conversation about migration, the series redirects the discussion toward misogyny. As a result, Adolescence becomes a subtle yet insidious piece of propaganda that’s now reportedly used in classrooms to “educate” boys—what a joke.

The show itself doesn’t dig very deep. It never ventures beyond what’s politically acceptable and feels like a typical product of a system that takes no creative risks and refuses to explore the root causes of the issues it raises out of fear of getting cancelled.

Awards are handed out. Critics adore it. In today’s climate, that’s often a clear sign of something not worth your time.

Still, the series holds a respectable 8.1 rating on IMDb, suggesting that audiences enjoyed it.

I couldn’t—despite great acting Adolescence is simply too ideologically driven for my taste.

Adolescence on IMDB

I Will Never Publish Ads on My Blog

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First impressions matter. Everyone likes to claim they care about what’s inside — about who a person truly is. But the truth is, we don’t have enough time to get to know everyone deeply. So we all make quick judgments. Within a few seconds, we decide whether someone is worth investing more of our time.

What’s true in real life applies even more online.

When I stumble upon a new YouTube channel, I scan the thumbnails and check the most popular videos. It’s shallow, sure — but if those don’t catch my attention, I move on. On Twitter, I make that decision even faster. And when it comes to blogs, it’s no different.

If a website greets me with pop-ups, sign-up forms, and flashy, blinking sidebars trying to sell me something I never asked for, I immediately lose interest. The writing might be amazing, but once the ads hit me in the face, I’m gone.

To me, a blog is like a personal business card. It represents who you are and gives complete strangers their first impression of you. And I don’t want that impression to be that of a salesman desperate to make a quick buck.

Years ago, I used to read a website called Danger & Play by Mike Cernovich. Around 2016, Cernovich stopped publishing, but before that, I visited his site almost every day. When he finally released a book, I bought it without hesitation. Then I bought the follow-up, and even a collection of his best blog posts. When he launched a podcast, I listened. When he tried YouTube, I subscribed.

At no point did he ever have to sell me anything. I’d been reading his blog for years, and when he released a printed book, I felt like I owed him my support. It wasn’t the relationship between a salesman and a customer — it was more like helping a friend out who’d helped me for years.

That’s the kind of relationship every personal blogger should strive for. You don’t want readers to see you as a salesman looking for easy money. You want to be a friend — someone genuinely trying to help. And when your readers feel that you’ve truly helped them, they’ll naturally want to give something back.

No ads required. No hard selling.

Just a simple announcement:

Hey, my next book is out. If you’re interested, here’s a link.

And after that announcement is out of the way, get right back to doing what matters most: writing something that helps or at least entertains your reader.