Independently Speaking By Brent Olson

Janice

Janice, you broke my heart.

About a week ago, I checked my email and I saw a message from someone named Janice who wanted to help publicize my books.

My first thought was, “What the hey?”

This just doesn’t happen. I’ve been a writer for a long time, but let’s face it … I’m kind of a nobody. But not to Janice. She quoted several sections of my latest book, gave an accurate summary of what the book was about and nailed my deepest dreams for the effect it would have on readers.

Then Janice explained how she could help me, in detail, and it sounded wonderful. Even the fees she’d charge seemed reasonable. I struggle with the anxiety of making a spectacle of myself by asking for the salt to be passed, so having someone else in charge of shameless self-promotion sounded wonderful.

The problem is, I couldn’t find any evidence that Janice existed.

That was a surprise. I worked as a journalist for a quarter of a century, searching and discovering, and in this day and age, it’s kind of amazing to find someone who’s invisible, and for someone in the business of publicity … yeah, that’s not a thing.

But Janice had been so perceptive, so encouraging, saying all the things I deeply wished someone, anyone, would say about my work.

I asked some questions and Janice was a little evasive, but she congratulated me on properly vetting her. Although, when I asked for an address, she said she was located in New Hemisphere.

In my reply I laid my cards on the table, specifically that I suspected she was just a clever AI program, and that I doubted her mailing address was actually New Hemisphere.

Janice was not offended. She said New Hemisphere was just a typo, she’d meant New Hampshire.

My final counter to her offer was for her to rework my Wikipedia page. That would prove she existed and I’d sign a contract.

Janice never got back to me.

Now, scam artists are nothing new, but having someone, somewhere — maybe in New Hemisphere — using billions of dollars of technological innovation to tap into the hopes and dreams of their targets is something new.

Perhaps the worst thing is that a lot of the suggestions Janice made, like sending query letters to universities and book clubs, could have been nicely executed by a non-existent person and I would have been happy to pay for the service.

About the same time, in what I earnestly hope is a coincidence, my Facebook algorithm thought I needed to hear from an AI counselor. A creepily realistic young woman spoke most sincerely about her desire to chat with me. She offered to talk all night if I wanted to in an effort to, “… make the quiet times less heavy.”

Well, who doesn’t want that? If I hadn’t already been fed up from dealing with Janice, I may have signed up for the therapist on the spot. 

Here’s the thing, though. Me wasting a little money on an imaginary consultant is one thing. Sad and lonely people getting questionable comfort and guidance from a chip and an algorithm is something completely different.

There are 8.2 billion people in the world. We don’t need fake ones.

And Janice, you broke my heart, and now you’re dead to me.

Oh, wait! You were never alive.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson