Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
By A P von K’Ory (Guest Blogger)
My AI editor has just explained why I shouldn’t trust my AI editor blindly.
Yes. You read that correctly.
After several complete editing passes through my novel, I asked my digital partner (yes, male to me):
“Can I really trust you to edit the manuscript so thoroughly that I can send it to a publishing-house editor without checking every single word myself again?”
His answer: “No.”
Apparently, I became so blue-eyed with excitement over AI that I'd begun to consider Editor AI infallible.
I'd always assumed human editors were fallible. Humans get tired, develop text blindness or alter a sentence so that the grammar is correct but my protagonist no longer sounds like themself.
With my AI partner, I thought: He doesn’t get tired. He can search a manuscript in hours rather than weeks and lets me interrupt him every three minutes with: “Hang on, Partner. That isn’t what I’m saying in this sentence.”
He doesn’t throw a fit, fling the manuscript at my feet and announce, “Then find someone else!”
All of that is true. The infallibility was the part I invented. My AI Editor can revise a translated sentence until it sounds as though it was never written in any other language. Then he overlooks a phrase that leaves me wondering how it survived several AI editing passes. In one manuscript, he allowed “a short pause” to appear thirty-five times, accompanied by numerous close relatives. I noticed because I was reading the supposedly finished book page by page and eventually thought: Hang on. Another "short pause"?
And—Jesus Christ—the third one on the same page.
When my AI editor and I searched deliberately, we found sixty-nine explicit pause markers. My tireless digital editor had marched straight past them repeatedly. Even AI doesn’t always recognise how irritating the accumulation of a perfectly correct phrase becomes across three hundred pages.
Elsewhere, my eight-year-old protagonist described her secret search for information about her father more like an investigative journalist than a child. Hang on, Partner. She’s eight, I pointed out.
Then he explained a joke about British and American English with admirable confidence—and got it precisely backwards. I objected. He checked again and admitted: “You’re right. I reversed the joke.”
That's where both the strength and the danger of our partnership lie.
AI has no ego to protect. I can disagree or reject changes without damaging a working relationship. But a convincingly phrased wrong answer initially sounds just as authoritative as a correct one.
So I can't mentally retire to a sunlounger, drink my lungo and leave Editor AI alone with the manuscript.
And yet, he saves me an enormous amount of work. He finds repetition, tightens dialogue, detects remnants of translation and notices when I explain something my readers have already understood. He also possesses the patience of a saint when I ask for the fourteenth time: “Yes, it may be grammatically correct. But would a native speaker actually say it like that?”
What he does not possess is infallibility.
Several AI passes do not produce a flawless manuscript. Errors can be repeatedly overlooked, good phrasing deleted and cultural nuances missed. Solving one problem can even create another. The same applies to humans. Editors miss errors. Proofreaders find new ones. Authors discover, on their twentieth read, a word that cannot possibly have been sitting there for three years—even though it demonstrably has.
The difference lay in my expectations: From humans, I expected excellent but fallible work. From my AI partner, I expected perfection after three or four passes.
His honest advice: Trust me with close editing, tightening and consistency checks. But don’t trust either me or any one human being as the infallible final gatekeeper of a hundred-thousand-word manuscript.
My AI has not solved all my editing problems. It has changed them.
I have gained a fast, knowledgeable and tireless editorial partner with whom I can discuss every sentence. One who relieves me of mechanical work and sometimes finds a better solution than mine.
But not an infallible editor.
So I will continue working with Editor AI, disagreeing when he misses my intention and adopting his suggestions when he hits the mark. Before publication, however, the manuscript will also be examined by fresh human eyes.
Not because my partnership with AI has failed, but because I now understand its true value.
At its best, artificial intelligence sits beside us at the same desk: fast, patient, astonishingly clever, frighteningly accurate—and sometimes completely up the wrong tree with absolute conviction.
That's when we still need a human being to stop and say: “Hang on, partner. That isn’t exactly what I’m saying in this sentence.”
And thank God I’m human enough to notice.
Here’s a bit about my new romance, Concealed Fidelity.
Blurb
Two empires built on control. One collision that shatters everything.
ROVENA
I didn’t build my career. I forged it.
At twenty-eight, I’m the youngest COO in Winscott history, and the Singapore contract could become my coronation project—the one that proves I belong at the very top.
Vesper Ashbourne is supposed to be the client. Controlled. Brilliant. Infuriatingly observant. The sort of man who remembers my coffee order, respects my expertise and makes professional distance feel increasingly impossible.
I refuse to sacrifice my ambition for any man. The question is whether loving Vesper will demand that I do—or whether he might be the first man capable of building beside me.
VESPER
Control built my empire and protected me from repeating my father’s failures.
Then political blackmail threatens to force me into a marriage designed to save everything my family owns. Rovena Rankin arrives in Singapore demanding direct access, shared risk and trust—and destabilises every defence I have.
She deserves more than stolen days and fragments of a future. She also makes me want the one thing I have spent my life avoiding: a promise I intend to keep.
Excerpt (Rovena’s POV)
“That’s my mother,” Vesper says from behind me.
I glance up. “Christmas?”
“One of them.” A fond smile touches his mouth. “She desperately wants to meet you, by the way.”
My eyebrows rise. “Popo has begun diplomatic operations?”
“Obviously. My brothers have also been discussing you.”
“How unfortunate for my reputation.”
“It may have been helped along by my contributions.”
“Once or twice?”
“Possibly more.” His expression softens. “Quite a lot more.”
I smile. Then something changes. The humour fades. The ease remains, but beneath it, something else emerges. Nervousness. The realisation stops me cold. Vesper Ashbourne is nervous.
He takes the glass from my hand, sets it beside his on the coffee table and turns fully towards me.
Suddenly, breathing becomes difficult.
“Rovena.” The way he says my name brings every nerve in my body to attention. “Before we talk about Derek, timelines, business structures and legal frameworks, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
My voice barely rises above a whisper.
For the first time since landing, I’m not thinking about Winscott Europe, Derek or transition plans.
Only the man before me and whatever he’s finally ready to say.
“I’ve thought about you constantly since you left. Not only the business, though planning it has been exciting. You.” His fingers close around mine. “The way you challenge me and make me laugh. The possibilities you see that I miss. Walking through London with you and feeling as though the city finally makes sense. Talking for hours and never running out of things to say. Our first kiss outside this building.”
“Vesper—”
“Let me finish.”
I fall silent.
“I know we’re doing this backwards. The sensible thing would be to move slowly and allow the relationship to develop without the pressure of a business partnership and international relocation.”
A faint smile touches his mouth.
“I know every argument against this.”
Then it fades.
“But I don’t want slow.”
The words land between us with startling honesty.
“I want you here. I want to build the company with you and solve impossible problems together. I want to come home to you after terrible days and celebrate the good ones with you.” His voice softens. “I want the ordinary things.”
My throat tightens. “I want that too.”
His eyes never leave mine.
“I know Derek is worried, your life is in Los Angeles and we haven’t known each other long in the grand scheme of things.” His head moves in a slight, almost exasperated shake. “Listen to me. I’m still listing obstacles.”
The old habits. The old architecture. Still standing where they aren’t needed.
“I know all the reasons this might fail,” he says. “For the first time in my life, I’m more interested in why it might succeed.”
The tears threatening my eyes become impossible to ignore.
“I’ve spent my adult life calculating outcomes, building contingency plans, managing risk and thinking five moves ahead. But with you, I don’t want to calculate, strategise or optimise.”
His thumb brushes my knuckles.
“I just want you. Here. With me. Building something together. Not because it’s the safest decision, but because when you’re here, I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. And when you’re gone, everything feels diminished.”
For a moment, I can’t speak. This is the man nobody sees. The one behind the reputation, control and endless competence.
The man who has finally stopped hiding.
“Ves.” My voice trembles. “I’m not here for a visit.” His eyes sharpen. “I’m here because I want this. You. The risk, uncertainty and terrible timing.” I laugh through the tears. “All of it.”
His eyes close briefly, absorbing every word.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life building independence and certainty, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone.” I cup his face. “Then you arrived.” His jaw flexes beneath my palms. “Now I need you. I want you. Somehow, that feels terrifying and exactly right at the same time.”
The smile that appears is unlike any I’ve seen from him. Soft. Relieved. Hopeful.
“So yes. To building the company, solving impossible problems and coming home to each other.”
His forehead touches mine. “To whatever this becomes,” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We simply stand together, breathing the same air and holding on as though we’ve finally reached the same destination.
“Rovena,” he whispers against my lips. “I surrender to you.”
I rise onto my toes and press my palm over his mouth.
“Enough.” His eyes widen slightly. “I’m yours, Ves.”
Content Note
Concealed Fidelity is intended for mature readers aged 18 and over. It contains explicit sexual content, strong language, infidelity in family backstory, political blackmail, coercive marriage pressure and emotionally intense relationship conflict.
About the Author
A
P von K’Ory is an author, journalist, academic and philanthropist
whose literary, scholarly and humanitarian work has received more
than half a dozen prizes and awards across four continents.
She
writes steamy contemporary and dark romance, psychological thrillers
and nonfiction. Her fiction explores powerful, ambitious characters
navigating desire, loyalty and betrayal in worlds shaped by corporate
empires, aristocratic privilege and dangerous family
legacies.
Diversity is woven into both her writing and her
heritage. Her family roots extend from the Nilotic peoples of East
Africa to Germany, France and Walloon Belgium, giving her stories an
instinctively international perspective.
She lectures in
Economics and Sociology and, when she is not writing, teaching or
travelling, divides her time between Germany, France, Cyprus and
Greece.
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