At the end of March, I had the pleasure of co-judging the 2025 Brookhouse School Illustrated Creative Writing Competition alongside author and playwright, Clifford Oluoch. In November each year, Brookhouse sends out the guidelines for entry to multiple schools in and around Nairobi with a theme – this year it was “The Magic Door” – which entrants must use to build a short story that should then be illustrated by themselves or a peer. 

Although this event has been in play for over a decade, it was in 2017 when Mohini Bahal – Literacy Coordinator at Brookhouse Karen Preparatory School – took over and the competition began to gather momentum. It was fast becoming a cherished event in the calendars of many international schools in Nairobi when, like so many other creative exploits around the world, it was curtailed by the onset of COVID-19. Pre-pandemic, the competition was open to students aged 3 to 18, but Mohini chose to keep the event more manageable this year, with a cut-off age of 11. Even so, there were noticeably fewer entries than previously, with some stalwart schools not even taking part. However, this was something of a blessing in disguise for the judges, whose job was made considerably more complex this year by the newest and most sensational entry to the competition – artificial intelligence.  

There seems to be much fear surrounding the subject of AI. When I have recounted my experience of the event to others, most of them want to know two things. First, they ask how we could be sure the stories were not the work of the entrants themselves and second, what does it say about the future of creative writing for our children? These questions are understandable and important, and while we will look at the place of AI in creative writing in more detail on this platform in the future, suffice it to say that Clifford, Mohini and I were more relieved than despondent or overly concerned. Allow me to explain.

Show, don’t tell

As a teacher, throughout the years of marking work to a standardised rubric, you become accustomed to what each age group is capable of on their best and worst days. For instance, it takes many years and continued practice for a young writer to master the art of “show, don’t tell” – a technique that immerses the reader in the story by relating sensory details and actions, rather than using obvious and explicit exposition. A nine-year-old child does not ordinarily use the phrase, “the air grew thick”, for example. But AI does. Repeatedly. You will also notice that I just used short sentences – a literary device that creates suspense and increases tension – which children only begin to use intentionally for effect in Grade 7 or 8. Of course, when you encounter such skills in an entry for a creative writing competition, your first response is to hope that you have found a winner – and a future Yvonne Owuor or David Maillu to boot. But when you discover the same phrases are being used repeatedly across the work of candidates from various age groups and different schools – it raises flags. The next point of action is to check with the child’s teacher, as the person who knows their work best, and when they inform you that it is nowhere near the child’s usual standard, you have your answer.

Once we had spotted this issue and deliberated on it for some time, we were all in agreement – judges, Mohini, the school head and even the director – that a story “inspired” and composed by AI does not qualify for this competition. However, there was no condemnation in this – it’s clear that everyone is trying to find their way regarding AI currently, and we had certainly not established any clear guidelines regarding its use. It also afforded us an opportunity to hone our skills in detection and discernment, and most importantly it has given us some very exciting ideas for next year’s event. So, having ascertained what creative writing is not (for the purposes of this competition), we then established that to qualify as a viable entry, a story must originate from the writer’s imagination and attempt to immerse the reader, through word and picture, in the world of the story and the feelings of the characters. Interestingly, if you ask a cross-section of AI software, “What is the job of a writer?” you will find that all include a variation on a clear mandate to evoke emotions and provoke thought. Of course, an AI-produced short story can achieve both of these things, but only according to what it has been fed hitherto. Which brings us back to the question of AI and the future of creative writing for our children.

Recycling death through AI?

AI has no way to experience the world other than through us – what we put in informs what we get out. Therefore, if we are not processing and expressing our own emotions and thoughts creatively – but rather we are looking to AI to communicate an experience for us, one that it has not “lived” – then we are simply recycling death. This may sound ominous but here’s why we are not worried. After we had recalibrated, and only the stories which were genuinely written by the entrants themselves remained, we were delighted to notice that each writer had made a fledgling attempt to explore their feelings through their senses. Naturally, there was a dominant use of the sense of sight – which heralds an important conversation for another time – but it was, as Mohini described, “incredibly rewarding to see children pour out their hearts through their stories and illustrations, many of which are deeply personal, imaginative and reflective of the world around them.”

Story is an intrinsic part of being human. Whether recounting a challenging ordeal to our friends, explaining why something wasn’t our fault or closing a deal, the fabric of our daily life is woven through story. In his book Sapiens, Yuval Noah Harari describes story as that which sets us apart from Homo Neanderthal. My mother used to repeat with frequency, that people who read make better writers. I tend to agree these days – the successful contestants this year all turned out to be children who read for pleasure – but I would add that those who read are also better speakers, listeners and thinkers. It is not possible to think about a matter in any detail without the language to describe it. Storytelling is a gift we all possess, not just published authors, and the more skilled we become in this gift – predominantly through the act of reading if my mother is to be believed – the higher our level of agency. It’s an amazing cycle. Stories beget stories.

Keeping storytelling alive

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to glorify the physical book – although I have on occasion felt compelled to kiss some, others I have thrown at the wall – it’s the act of storytelling, through any medium, I want to encourage. The perseverance to take a theme such as The Magic Door on a journey through your imagination, feel all the feelings your characters feel, wrestle the idea onto the page then redraft it to incorporate language and imagery that has impact, is a skill that takes years of practice to develop. But if, as Harari suggests, it is one that empowers us to gather as communities and change the trajectory of society for the better, then let’s do everything we can to encourage it.

We can start by telling children our own stories at mealtimes and keeping family fables alive. We can help them process and express their feelings by encouraging them to read books and short stories and listen as they tell their own. Someone once said that inside each seed of the great Mugumo is a fully grown tree. It is so touching to see in the creative writing of a child, that this seed has been planted, and is beginning to take root and shoot upwards. The strong branches and myriad leaves, blossoms and fruit are just visible in the distance, along with the people gathering underneath for protection from the sun and rain, and the communities growing as they meet and discuss their own experiences.

We do not need to be afraid of AI, it is a tool built by brilliant humans who just need to get on with the ‘being’ part. Next year, the competition will comprise an all-day workshop for finalists who will craft their stories and illustrations in-situ from beginning to end under the guidance of storytelling professionals.

For more information, please contact Mohini Bahal on mbahal@brookhouse.ac.ke

Virginia Clay is a Nairobi-based children’s author and editor. virginiaclay.co.uk