The Cutting Edge – William Draycott

November 12, 2025

The cutting edge of literary fiction — if it is indeed cutting — must be pressed tightly against the knuckle for it to stay the cutting edge; without fucking remorse. Many writers are pushing form; exploring hybrid and polyphonic orality, as well as performative texts that combine speculative realism with hyper-contemporary realism and radical intimacy. Words as art, telling a transmedia digital narrative that drips with subtext in defiance of their parents, whose shelves are filled with books about women meeting Greek men on holiday, Stephen King, and DVDs.
I wrestle with my inner thoughts. I’m thinking, mixed media, hybrid narrative… autofic’ essay kinda thing. But I can’t get it out; I’m frustrated; lightning strikes me; I type: Please write me a 100-word story about a writer who turns to AI to write a 100-word story on the cutting edge of literary fiction.
It responds:
The writer types a request: one hundred words, cutting edge, literary fiction.
The AI hums—a bright, soft thinking.
It offers fragments: a woman peeling oranges in a flooded library; a sentence that eats its own verbs; a future where every story is both true and false.
The writer deletes nothing. Each shard glitters like wet glass.
Together they shape a loop: a writer typing a request—
the AI humming—
fragments blooming—
a future where every story is both true and false.
The story ends where it began, precise as a clock, infinite as the next keystroke.
God, that’s good. I hate prose anyway.