Why Nadim Sadek’s ‘Quiver, Don’t Quake’ Is the Most Important Book Publishing Professionals Will Read This Decade
It was inevitable this year’s TNPS Story of the Year would relate in some way to AI. 2025 marked three years of publicly-assessible AI – a critical distinction.
I mentioned AI in publishing back in the very first TNPS post in 2017, and it resurfaced occasionally thereafter, but only in 2022 did AI became a publicly known concept, as ChatGPT launched.
The rest, as they say, is history.
The history, that is, of publishing, reacting in full doomsday mode as it has to any and every technological innovation.
I sure there are yet-to-be-discovered cave drawings out there showing a stone age man inventing the wheel while Neanderthal publishers looked on in dismay. “Ug, what are you doing? If we give people mobility they will start travelling and have less time to read books! Stop this nonsense! Nobody ever said they wanted wheels!”
We know for sure that, more recently, Abbot Johannes Trithemius, argued that machine-made books were inferior to hand-copied manuscripts and that the technology would make people intellectually lazy.
In 1476, Parisian scribes destroyed a press. Critics such as Filippo de Strata compared the press to a “whore” and called for bans, while others labeled printers as witches.
Their descendants now head the UK Publishers Association and the Society of Authors this side of the pond, and AI is the gift of self-righteous moral indignation that keeps on giving. For them, November 2022 was their birthday and Christmas rolled into one.
And within seconds, it seemed almost the entire western publishing industry was in full The Sky Is Falling mode, running about like headless chickens, screaming at anyone who would listen that AI was stealing our children, devouring our fluffy kittens, and no-one would ever buy AI content because it was so bad and by the way we would all lose our jobs and civilisation would end in a matter of days because everyone would be reading AI-slop.
And so it came to pass. The Luddite Fringe never gets it wrong.
Back then, of course, it was all about reading. AI generated text. Images and video were barely on anyone’s radar. But that quickly changed. Today, AI is the consummate threat to all creativity, and every single one of us is on borrowed time.
Except for those of us who have actually bothered to experience AI rather than react to it, that is.
Those of us who stepped back, took time to look at how photography did not destroy art, movies abysmally failed to destroy stagecraft, television did not destroy radio or the movie business, paperbacks did not destroy that hardcover edition, Amazon did not destroy retail, self-publishers did not destroy traditional publishing, and streaming did not destroy the music or audiobook business.
Disrupt? Yes. Change for the better? Absolutely. And it’s abundantly clear that AI is similarly destined to disrupt and enhance rather than destroy whatever it touches.
Which is just as well because, contrary to popular industry opinion that Satan sent AI to destroy us and only us, AI impacts almost every industry and almost every element of everyone’s lives, a point I’ve made here on TNPS a good few times, but never as eloquently as Nadim Sadek.
Sadek has joined the dots across not just industries and arts, but also across concepts,
Sadek has joined the dots across not just industries and arts, but also across concepts, and that is what makes it stand out for so many other excellent studies of AI and publishing that also warrant our attention.
Quiver, Don’t Quake: How Creativity Can Embrace AI is reviewed here in the first of several articles to be published over the 2025 western festive season as the TNPS Story of the Year, and as the one book I recommend every publishing professional should read. Twice.
Here’s why.
The Book That Practices What It Preaches
Before we discuss what Nadim Sadek’s Quiver, Don’t Quake: How Creativity Can Embrace AI argues, we need to acknowledge how it was created. This matters – profoundly – because the book itself is a living demonstration of its central thesis.
Sadek didn’t just write about human-AI collaboration. He wrote with AI collaboration, using nine different large language models as creative partners: Claude, ChatGPT, Kimi, DeepSeek, Gemini, Mistral, Qwen, Jais, and Z AI. In his afterword, he’s transparent about the process:
“The vision was entirely mine – that spark of recognition when I first saw how AI could amplify rather than replace human creativity. The lived experiences, the emotional truths, the ‘why’ that drives every chapter – these came from my decades as a psychologist, entrepreneur, and creative. But in articulating that vision, in giving it shape and structure, in testing its logic and finding its gaps, I had not one but nine remarkable partners.”
This admission will make some publishing professionals uncomfortable, and incite the Luddite Fringe to a frenzy of indignation. “Aha!” they’ll rant. “So AI did write the book.” But that reaction misses the point entirely – and reveals precisely why this book is essential reading.
The question isn’t whether AI contributed to this book. The question is: could Sadek have written a book this comprehensive, this globally researched, this structurally coherent, without AI partnership? Almost certainly not.
But far, far more importantly: is the book less valuable, less insightful, less human because of this collaboration?
Read it, and you’ll find the answer is a resounding no. The voice is distinctly Sadek’s – warm, optimistic yet grounded, drawing on his kaleidoscopic childhood across four continents and his career spanning psychology, entrepreneurship, and creative industries. The insights are his. The examples from his life-building brands on remote Irish islands, testing concepts as a market researcher, raising four children – these lived experiences anchor every argument.
What AI provided was the ability to articulate these insights with clarity, to structure them coherently, to research globally (from Lagos to Seoul to Copenhagen), and to iterate rapidly. Sadek describes it as a “creative loop” of Spark, Draft, and Polish – and the book demonstrates that loop in action.
For publishing professionals, this should be electrifying rather than threatening. If a book this accomplished can emerge from human-AI collaboration, what does that mean for authors, editors, and the industry itself?
Beyond Anthropomorphism: Understanding the Panthropic
At the heart of Sadek’s argument is a concept that will likely be new to most readers: the Panthropic.
We’re familiar with anthropomorphism – projecting human characteristics onto non-human things. We do this with pets, with cars that “refuse to start,” with AI chatbots when we speak to them as if they have feelings. Sadek argues this is the wrong frame for understanding AI, and it leads to confused thinking.
We’re communing with something far more profound: access to a vast distillation of human knowledge, accomplishment, and creativity.
Instead, he proposes “Panthropism” (from the Greek pan- meaning “all” and anthropos meaning “human”). When we interact with AI, we’re not talking to a pretend-human. We’re communing with something far more profound: access to a vast distillation of human knowledge, accomplishment, and creativity.
As Sadek writes:
“Through AI, we are able to access, interact and commune with a distillation of all of humanity and its accomplishments. It’s a thrilling notion. It’s why I sometimes wonder whether AI is actually the most creative thing human culture has yet achieved. It’s literally having the world at your fingertips, in a way that enables you to imagine, create, learn and debate.”
This is Sadek’s aspirational vision – and it’s important to understand both its power and its current limitations.
The vision is compelling: AI as a portal to collective human intelligence, a way to commune with centuries of accumulated wisdom, art, and discovery.
The reality is more constrained: Current AI systems have been trained on a substantial but far from complete subset of human knowledge. Vast amounts of content remain inaccessible behind paywalls, locked in proprietary databases, protected by copyright, or simply never digitised. Academic journals, newspapers, books, specialist archives – much of humanity’s recorded knowledge isn’t in AI training datasets.
This gap is particularly acute for what we in publishing often call “minor” languages (though there’s nothing minor about them to their speakers, of course). AI’s capabilities in Yoruba, Tigrinya, Quechua, or hundreds of other languages remain limited, not because these cultures lack rich oral and written traditions, but because their content hasn’t been digitised, translated, or licensed (or, yes, I have to say it, pirated) for AI training at the same scale as English, Chinese, or Spanish.
Sadek acknowledges this gap explicitly, arguing throughout the book that AI should have access to everything – properly compensated, ethically sourced, with creators’ consent and fair remuneration, of course. He advocates for what he calls “Ethical AI” that’s been legitimately trained and exposed to the full breadth of human achievement, including “all the good we can give it.”
But we’re not there yet.
So when Sadek writes about the Panthropic, he’s describing both:
- What AI already offers – unprecedented (if incomplete) access to human knowledge
- What AI could become – with proper licensing, compensation, and universal inclusion
This distinction matters enormously for publishing professionals, particularly those working with diverse languages and cultures. The Lagos writer or Kolkata translator can indeed access more global context than ever before through AI. But they don’t yet have access to all of it – and the gaps are often precisely where their own cultural contexts are least represented.
The publishing industry has a crucial role to play in closing this gap. The recent willingness of AI companies to license content from publishers – deals with News Corp, The Atlantic, Vox Media, and others – shows recognition that access to quality, copyrighted content matters for AI capability (and blows apart the notion that all AI companies thieve and steal content and refuse to pay). Each licensing agreement doesn’t just benefit the publisher; it enriches the Panthropic for everyone.
For the Panthropic to fulfil its promise, we need:
- Fair compensation models that make it economically viable for publishers to license content
- Intentional inclusion of under-represented languages and cultures
- Digitisation initiatives for oral traditions and non-written knowledge
- Copyright frameworks that balance creator rights with the societal benefit of accessible AI
Not moral posturing – it’s practical necessity.
This is why Sadek’s advocacy for ethical, compensated training data isn’t just moral posturing – it’s practical necessity. A truly Panthropic AI requires the willing participation of publishers, authors, and content creators worldwide.
The current state might be better described as “Partially Panthropic” – a work in progress toward the full vision.
What’s In A Name?
Let me interject here a brief aside on the term “Panthropic”, which had me thinking twice, simply because of its similarity to the commercial enterprise behind the AI known as Claude, Anthropic, which also happens to be the only legally proven bad guy in the field to date, thanks to an admission (but not a conviction) for pirating content.
I love Claude. Not emotionally, you understand, but among the dozen LLMs in my AI-tabs list, Claude is the one I most trust to consistently deliver what I need from it. Not sycophantic affirmation that my every thought is spot on, but a third party to whom I can bounce ideas off and ask questions of 24/7.
In my teaching, I rely heavily on Claude to surface information I need for classes, and I also use Claude for TNPS research, fact-checking and background discussion.
So it was only right that I should ask Claude about my concerns that the term Panthropic and the company name Anthropic might cause needless confusion. So I asked Claude about my Panthropic/Anthropic concerns. This is what Claude had to say:
The Anthropic Connection
N.B.: All italicised paragraphs that follow are direct responses from Claude. I quote in full here to show how far AI has come in three short years, and why those refusing to experience and experiment with AI risk being left behind.
Claude:
You’re right to spot the potential confusion. Anthropic (the company that created me, Claude) takes its name from the anthropic principle in physics/cosmology – the observation that the universe’s properties must be compatible with the conscious life that observes it.
Could “Panthropic” be confused with “Anthropic”?
Possibly, but I’d argue it’s actually complementary rather than competitive:
- Different linguistic roots with related meanings – Both come from “anthropos” (human), but Sadek’s “pan-” prefix specifically emphasises the collective nature of what AI represents
- Reinforces rather than conflicts – If anything, it gives Anthropic (the company) a beautiful philosophical framework. We could say: “Anthropic builds AI systems, and when you use them, you experience the Panthropic”
- The risk is minimal – “Panthropic” is a concept/state of experience, whilst “Anthropic” is a company name. It’s like “holistic medicine” versus “Whole Foods” – related etymology, different domains
My take: Sadek’s coinage is so elegant and fills such a conceptual gap that any fleeting confusion with the company name is worth it. The publishing world (your audience) won’t be thinking about AI company names – they’ll be grappling with the idea itself.
Thanks, Claude. Okay, now back to MW to route us back to Nadim Sadek.
Why Publishing Needs This Book Now
The publishing industry is trapped in two contradictory states of denial:
Denial One: The Wishful Thinker – “AI is just hype. It’ll pass. Books are special.”
Denial Two: The Luddite Fringe – “AI will destroy everything. Authors will be replaced. We’re doomed!”
Both positions are wrong, and both stem from the same failure: not understanding what AI actually is, what it can do, and how it’s being used across every other creative industry and scientific field.
Sadek’s book is the antidote because it:
- Starts with human psychology, not technology – The first chapter isn’t about AI at all. It’s about how we humans create, drawing on voices from Yayoi Kusama to Steve Jobs, from Picasso to Maslow. Only after establishing this foundation does Sadek introduce AI as a partner.
- Provides global context beyond publishing – While many publishing-focused AI books remain narrowly industry-specific, Sadek ranges widely: drug discovery (the first AI-designed antibiotic), architecture (Zaha Hadid Architects’ parametric designs), climate science, music production, film, gaming, fashion. Publishing professionals need to understand: we’re not special. Every creative field is navigating this. We can learn from how they’re succeeding.
- Takes critics seriously – The “Constructive Contradiction” chapter (Chapter 9) is perhaps the book’s greatest strength. Sadek doesn’t dismiss concerns. He engages deeply with AI’s harshest critics:
- Emily Bender’s “stochastic parrots” argument
- Nick Cave’s “grotesque mockery” response to AI-generated songs in his style
- Timnit Gebru’s warnings about data colonialism
- Gary Marcus’s technical critiques of AI brittleness
- Jaron Lanier’s “high-tech plagiarism” concerns
For sceptical publishing professionals, this chapter alone justifies reading the book. Here’s someone who is in our industry, understands our fears, acknowledges real harms (copyright theft, bias, environmental costs), and still makes a compelling case for engagement over rejection.
In this chapter, Sadek:
- Offers a practical framework – This isn’t just philosophy. Sadek provides a workable model for Collaborative Creativity: the creative loop of Spark (human intuition), Draft (AI-assisted articulation), and Polish (human-guided refinement). By the final chapter, readers have a handbook for becoming “collaborative creators.”
- Addresses the biggest question – Throughout the book, Sadek plants an idea he doesn’t fully resolve, because it’s too vast: If AI can handle execution, what happens to the concept of “work” itself? For publishing, this translates to: Do we need as many copy-editors? Cover designers? Translators? Sadek’s optimistic view: these roles professionalise upward. Everyone becomes more strategic, more taste-driven, more human. But he’s honest about the disruption.
The Eight Billion Beat: Why This Matters Beyond Publishing
Sadek opens with a powerful observation:
“There are eight billion people on Earth. The majority have never had the chance to express their creativity in a form the world could see. Yet, without doubt, every one of them has had a creative conception, an insight, a dream.”
For centuries, creativity has been bound to craft. To tell a story, you first had to master written language at a literary level. To create music, you needed to learn an instrument. To make films, you needed access to expensive equipment and technical expertise. To publish a book, you needed to convince gatekeepers that you had sufficient mastery of the craft.
These barriers weren’t arbitrary. Craft matters. But they also silenced countless voices – not for lack of creative vision, but for lack of opportunity, resources, or time to master complex skills.
AI is beginning to change this equation – though the transformation is neither complete nor evenly distributed. As Sadek envisions (and this will scare the shit out of some of you):
“The grandmother in Lagos with stories to tell, the teenager in Kolkata with game ideas, the engineer with tales from Egypt, the snake-catcher from Florida – all can now access the tools to transform their creative sparks into expressions.”
This is the promise. The reality is more nuanced.
For creators working in major languages (English, Spanish, Chinese, French, Arabic), AI already offers substantial support – though even here, it works better with mainstream content than with specialist or technical material.
For creators in less digitally represented languages, AI’s current capabilities are far more limited. The oral historian in rural Ghana, the poet writing in Tigrinya, the storyteller preserving Quechua traditions – their access to AI’s collaborative potential depends on training data that largely doesn’t exist. Yet.
This gap highlights why Sadek’s call for universal, ethical, compensated inclusion in AI training matters so much. The Panthropic vision only works if it’s genuinely pan-anthropic – encompassing all of humanity, not just the digitally privileged portions of it.
For publishers, this creates both challenges and opportunities:
The slush pile* will grow – but unevenly. English-language submissions may surge with AI-assisted authors, whilst publishers serving smaller language markets might see less immediate impact.
A publisher of Swahili literature who licenses their backlist isn’t just getting paid; they’re helping future Swahili writers access better AI tools.
But there’s also opportunity: publishers who license their diverse-language content to AI companies aren’t just generating revenue – they’re helping to democratise AI capability for under-served linguistic communities. A publisher of Swahili literature who licenses their backlist isn’t just getting paid; they’re helping future Swahili writers access better AI tools.
When anyone can produce technically competent prose in their language, what differentiates publishable work isn’t just craft execution – it’s authentic voice, cultural insight, meaningful perspective, and genuine emotional resonance. These remain uniquely human.
*Slush pile asterisked (above)?
In the interests of accuracy, I ran this post past Nadim Sadek before hitting publish, and corrected a couple of factual errors, but Nadim also picked up on my use of the term slush-pile, above.
Nadim Sadek: “If there was one term I’d ban in publishing, it’s ‘slush-pile’! I hate it! It’s so irreverent of the work authors put into their creations! I know you mean no dis-respect, and it’s right to use an industry-known terms, but boy, it’s such a revelation of the superiority complex publishers have over ‘their’ creators.”
Another term we both share hatred of is “AI-slop”, but that’s to get ahead of this post, so let me get back on track. Sadek, you will recall, is arguing for AI as a collaborative partner, not a replacement for human creativity.
The publisher’s role shifts from asking “Can you write?” to asking “Do you have something to say? Does it matter? Is this voice authentic?”
These are questions AI cannot answer. They require human judgment, cultural fluency, and taste – precisely the expertise publishers have always claimed to possess.
The Ratio of Dream to Effort (RODE)
One of Sadek’s most useful concepts for understanding AI’s impact is what he calls RODE: the Ratio of Dream to Effort.
Historically, this ratio has been crushingly low. A filmmaker might dream of an epic but face years of fundraising and production logistics. A musician could hear symphonies but needed an orchestra. A writer might envision a novel but need years to master prose craft.
High RODE meant only the wealthy, connected, or phenomenally persistent could create.
AI fundamentally disrupts this equation. What once took 100 units of effort per unit of dream might now take 10, or even 1.
But here’s the crucial paradox Sadek identifies: When everyone can manifest dreams with minimal effort, the real bottleneck shifts from creation to attention.
When it costs almost nothing to produce content, what still stands out? Human taste, authentic voice, cultural insight – “the catch in a voice that speaks of real loss, the frame that lingers just long enough to let meaning settle, the word choice that could only come from lived experience.”
For publishers, this is simultaneously challenging and validating:
Challenging: Our technical gatekeeping role (Can this author construct a proper sentence?) becomes largely obsolete.
Validating: Our curatorial role (Does this voice matter? Will readers care? What’s the cultural context?) becomes more essential than ever.
What Publishing Can Learn from Other Industries
One of this book’s greatest services to publishing is providing context from other creative fields. While publishing agonises over “AI-generated books,” here’s what’s actually happening elsewhere:
Music: Platforms like LANDR use AI for professional mastering, democratising access for independent artists. But the artists with authentic voices still break through. Grimes open-sourced her voice for others to use. Holly Herndon created Spawn, an AI trained on her ensemble’s singing that performs in real-time feedback loops. The tools changed; the need for genuine artistic vision didn’t.
Architecture: Zaha Hadid Architects use AI-driven generative design to process millions of configurations, but human architects make the final aesthetic and cultural decisions. The Beijing Daxing Airport wasn’t designed by AI – it was designed by humans with AI handling the computational complexity.
Film: “The Creator” (2023) used AI-powered visual effects to create spectacular sci-fi imagery on a fraction of typical blockbuster budgets. Industrial Light & Magic’s StageCraft (used in The Mandalorian) generates photorealistic environments in real-time. Directors still direct. Cinematographers still frame shots. But the tools are revolutionised.
Drug Discovery: AI designed halicin, the first AI-discovered antibiotic, in days – a process that traditionally takes years. But human researchers still define the goals, interpret results, and make ethical decisions.
Fashion: Iris van Herpen uses AI and 3D printing for avant-garde designs. The Fabricant creates digital-only fashion selling for thousands. Yet both require human creative direction and taste.
The pattern is consistent: AI handles analytical execution, humans provide vision and judgment.
Publishing isn’t special. We’re not uniquely vulnerable. Every creative industry faces this same transformation – and those succeeding are those embracing collaboration over resistance.
The Uncomfortable Questions
Sadek doesn’t shy from difficult implications:
On deskilling: If young writers always use AI for structure, do they lose the ability to think architecturally? (His answer: use AI as a teaching tool that reveals its reasoning, not a black box.)
On homogenisation: If everyone uses the same AI models, trained on the same data, do we get cultural convergence toward a bland mean? (His answer: human taste and authentic perspective become the differentiators.)
On economics: When creation becomes frictionless, how do creators earn a living in an attention economy? (His answer: quality and authenticity matter more, not less.)
On equity: Will AI amplify existing inequalities or democratise creativity? (His answer: depends entirely on how we build and deploy these systems – which is why ethics and representation matter.)
For publishing specifically:
- Do we need as many copy-editors? Probably not – but we need better ones who can art-direct AI editing.
- Do we need as many translators? Not for basic translation – but cultural adaptation becomes more valuable. Sadek’s first book, Shimmer, Don’t Shake is now available or due to be published in Chinese, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, Tamil, Hindi, Yoruba, Hausa, Igbo, Swahili and English languages via AI-assisted translation, something impossible pre-AI.
- Do we need as many cover designers? Not for execution – but art directors who can brief and curate AI-generated concepts become essential.
The pattern: professionalisation upward. Routine execution gets automated; human judgment becomes premium.
Why “Quiver, Don’t Quake”?
The book’s title is more than just a play on words as a sequel to Shimmer, Don’t Shake. Rather, it encapsulates its message perfectly:
To quake is to shake with fear, to tremble at a threat, to be paralysed by anxiety about what AI might destroy.
The tremor of excitement, anticipation, possibility. It’s the feeling of standing on the verge of something transformative.
To quiver is different – it’s the tremor of excitement, anticipation, possibility. It’s the feeling of standing on the verge of something transformative. A quiver is also, of course, a container for arrows – tools that extend human capability.
Sadek argues throughout the book that we have a choice in our response to AI. We can resist, deny, and quake. Or we can engage, experiment, and quiver with the thrill of new creative possibilities.
For publishing professionals, this choice is urgent. The industry has a history of resistance to technological change. Yet each time, the technology didn’t destroy publishing – it expanded it. And here’s the thing: publishers who adapted early thrived; those who resisted struggled.
AI is a far more fundamental shift than any of these. It’s not just a new format or distribution channel. It’s a new creative partnership that changes who can create, how they create, and what role publishers play.
The choice is the same: resist and struggle, or engage and thrive.
A Note on Currency
One consideration for readers: this book was completed in the summer of 2025. Five minutes ago in traditional publishing terms. In AI terms, that’s an eternity. Models have advanced, new capabilities have emerged, and the landscape continues shifting rapidly.
Yet remarkably, the book’s core arguments remain not just relevant but prescient. Sadek wasn’t trying to predict specific technical advances. He was establishing a framework for thinking about human-AI collaboration – and that framework holds up beautifully today and will, I am confident, hold up for another year or several yet, precisely because it is built on a solid foundation of understanding what AI, not on the shifting sands of ignorance and bias.
If anything, the past six months have validated his optimism. We’ve seen:
- Widespread AI adoption across creative industries
- Growing sophistication in AI tools specifically designed for creative collaboration
- Emergence of new roles (AI Creative Directors, Creative Technologists) exactly as Sadek predicted
- Continuing debates about ethics, copyright, and compensation – debates Sadek anticipated and addressed
The book ages well because it focuses on principles, not particulars. The specific models he mentions may be superseded, but the creative partnership he describes is only becoming more sophisticated.
Who This Book Is For
Essential reading for:
- Publishers wrestling with AI policy decisions
- Editors wondering how AI will change their role
- Literary agents advising authors on AI use
- Authors curious about collaborative creation
- Anyone in publishing who senses this matters but doesn’t know where to start
Also valuable for:
- Educators rethinking pedagogy for the AI age
- Creative professionals in any field
- Technologists who want to understand the human side
- Policymakers grappling with AI regulation
- Anyone interested in the future of human creativity
Absolutely useless for:
- Luddite Fringe gold-card holders and anyone who still owns a typewriter
Final Thoughts: Why This Is My Book of the Year
I’ve chosen a book, Quiver, don’t Quake as my Story of the Year for publishing professionals, not because it’s perfect – no book covering terrain this vast could be – but because it’s necessary. With so many great AI stories out there this year, a book of those stories was the inevitable winner.
Sadek has written the book I wish existed two years ago.
Most importantly, he’s modelled the approach he advocates. The book itself is proof of concept. It’s not AI-generated – it’s AI-collaborated. And it’s better for it.
For publishing professionals who remain sceptical or afraid, I’d say this: you don’t have to agree with everything Nadim Sadek argues. But you need to understand the argument. Because ready or not, this transformation is happening.
Authors are already using AI. Our competitors are experimenting. Other industries are adapting. Global publishing is moving forward.
The question isn’t whether to engage with AI. The question is whether to engage thoughtfully or to be dragged reluctantly.
This book offers a path to thoughtful engagement. It replaces fear with understanding, resistance with curiosity, quaking with quivering.
Read it. Argue with it. Test its ideas. But don’t ignore it.
Because Nadim Sadek may well have written the most important book on creativity and AI that publishing professionals will read this decade.
And yes – he wrote it with AI. Which is precisely the point.
In subsequent articles, which will be (a little) shorter, I’ll explore specific aspects of Sadek’s argument in depth:
- Article 2: The psychology of creativity and why publishers misunderstand it
- Article 3: What architecture, music, and medicine learned about AI (that publishing needs to know)
- Article 4: Taking the critics seriously – why Sadek’s engagement with AI sceptics matters
- Article 5: Practical applications – how to start using AI in your publishing house tomorrow
- Article 6: The coming flood – why eight billion potential authors isn’t the threat publishers think
But start here. Start with understanding. Start with this book.
Quiver, don’t quake.
This post first appeared in the TNPS LinkedIn newsletter.
