When The Bookseller published its recent AI survey, I was not surprised by the tone. Like most industry conversations about AI, it focused on risk: job losses, deskilling, ethics, environmental cost. All valid concerns, if you are already through the door. But what if you are still on the outside? For some of us, AI does not replace jobs. It removes barriers. Using tools such as ChatGPT is not about scaling productivity. It is about finally being able to be part of the conversation.

Publishing’s class ceiling is real. The lack of diversity within the industry hinders representation, reinforces inequality and limits creativity; yet real, sustained change is never made. Marginalised people cannot rely on the door being opened for us, we have to innovate to make our voices heard. 

I am a working-class, neurodivergent writer who, at nearly 40, has finally been given a platform. My path to publication has been long and arduous. I could tell you the stories but you have heard them all before. Class has held me back more times than I can count, but saying so risks conforming to stereotypes: loud, obnoxious, bitter. Classism in publishing is an insidious form of gaslighting. Constant rejection made me believe that my work was no good, that I was the problem, not the cliff face I was trying to scale. 

We need to stop treating AI as good or bad and start asking better questions. Who benefits? Who is excluded? What does ethical use look like in practice, not just in theory?

So what does this have to do with AI? Everything. Because after years of job applications, pitches and silence, after nearly 100 queries and the agony of being on submission, I started using ChatGPT. Not to do the work for me, but to give me a foothold.

I use it to draft pitches. What takes me an hour takes it five minutes. At that pace, I do not mind being ignored. At that pace, I finally was not. The more I used it, the more I started to see its potential, especially as an accessibility tool. It helps structure professional communication, breaks down tasks, supports executive dysfunction, demystifies expectations and saves time for those juggling multiple jobs. It is not a replacement, it is what makes the work possible.

So when I see authors online telling end users they are "handling stolen goods" my indignation is piqued. It makes for a catchy soundbite, but it flattens a complex issue into moral sensationalism. This blanket demonisation ignores the power imbalance between the corporations building AI and the marginalised creatives simply trying to participate. Blame the systems, not the people navigating them.

The ethical panic around AI often centres on those with the most security; people whose jobs, networks and confidence are already intact. That is ableist. It is classist. I am not outsourcing ideas; I am doing what everyone else does, getting help. Mine just happens to be a chatbot, not a family friend in editorial. I still worry about the environmental impact, so I use it carefully and consciously, to lower barriers I could not cross alone. 

Continues…