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Not bad, I suppose. I have just asked ChatGPT to create a series of concepts for a movie, based on the creative writing prompt “Her face went still as her eyes widened, watching the glass shatter on the floor”, and this is one of its better suggestions. My aim is to develop a short outline of a plot within 30 minutes.

No, I don’t have any serious aspirations to break into Hollywood. But I wanted to test out the findings of a recent paper by Hsuan-Che Brad Huang during his PhD at the University of British Columbia in Canada. There has been a lot of online discussion about whether algorithms will replace human brainwork, but Huang wanted to see whether AI can enhance our own creativity – and the answer depends on how much we use it. Too little or too much and our thinking suffers. In the “Goldilocks zone”, however, it can inspire new ideas that we might have never considered by ourselves, while leaving us with a satisfying sense of ownership over the work we have produced.

Sadly, I find it highly unlikely that my experiment has produced the next blockbuster, but it has helped clarify my thoughts about the nature of creativity.

First, the theory. Huang’s hypothesis was based on the fact that human creativity is often constrained by our experience; we all carry certain assumptions that will direct our thinking in one direction, and so it can often be useful to hear from other ways of seeing the world. There is evidence that is why teams are often more creative than individuals. But AI could also be a tool for getting a different perspective.

The technology has its limits, of course. LLMs, which are in essence statistical tools, often present a kind of “average response” to questions, without the amazing idiosyncrasies of the human brain, and they often absorb biases and prejudices from their training data. Worse still, they can undermine our own feelings of competence, producing a kind of apathy.

For these reasons, Huang suspected that moderation was key. In much the same way that Goldilocks had to find the porridge that was neither too hot, nor too cold, we should look for a medium level of engagement that is “just right”, he argued – and he assessed the idea in a series of experiments.

The first involved a classic test of creativity, in which around 150 participants were asked to assist a student named Mike in coming up with an impromptu business, given just $10 of seed funding. They were encouraged to first generate multiple ideas, before sending Mike an email setting out the best proposal in detail.

During this process, some participants were encouraged to use ChatGPT just one time, while others were recommended to employ around four to six prompts. The rest were told to use the AI at least nine times – a very high level of engagement for a 15-minute task. All participants AI at some point. Their final ideas were then assessed by expert human judges on novelty, utility and business value.

The results were exactly as Huang had predicted, with higher average scores among the participants in the middle group. To confirm the finding, he performed a second experiment with a further 319 participants, finding the same results.

Finally, he took the idea to professional creatives, through a survey of fashion designers, visual artists, authors, animators, technologists and influencers. In a questionnaire, the participants had to rate statements such as “I use artificial intelligence to carry out most of my job functions” on a scale of 1 (strongly disagree) to 7 (strongly agree). Based on their bosses’ assessments, he found that those who reported moderate use of AI (around 4 or 5 on the scale) had the most creative ideas, just as his previous experiments had suggested.

During my little experiment, I could easily see the advantage. I first asked the chatbot to think up 10 different ideas in diverse genres, before picking my favourite: the concealed memory card that is released by Mischa’s glass breaking. I built on that idea by describing what I felt would be contained on the card – a series of stills from Mischa’s grandparents’ wedding – and asked the AI to offer a continuation of the plot. It suggested that the pictures contained an elegant young woman who had been erased from all the other wedding photos.

With my remaining four prompts, we explored who the woman was (a great aunt) and why she had been “disappeared” (she had witnessed her brother, Mischa’s grandfather, committing a crime). The showdown, we decided, would occur at Mischa’s own wedding.

At each stage, the AI helped broaden the range of events that I was considering, but I had to use my human mind to keep the story coherent and to create some kind of narrative arc. This almost certainly helped me come up with a more intricate plot than I could have possibly managed on my own in the time that I had. But I still have reservations.

It isn’t just the ethical issues I would have in trying to pass off an AI collaboration as my own work, and the risk of plagiarising others’ work through the algorithm’s suggestions, but what I think is lost when we outsource our thinking. I’ve recently started dabbling in writing short fiction, and I love the sensation of my synapses straining to find new connections, and the genuine sense of surprise when new motifs and themes emerge unexpectedly, connected, in some way, to my personal experience and the emotions that I am feeling. All of that was lost in this experiment.

Perhaps most seriously, I am worried about what the employment of AI might do to my long-term development. In a recent study, currently under peer review, Grace Liu at Carnegie Mellon University in Pennsylvania and her colleagues have shown that people quickly become reliant on AI and less persistent in the absence of the technology. I doubt this is a permanent change, but still – I hate the thought that I am somehow setting myself up for lazy thinking in the future. Writing, for me, should be a continual learning curve.

This isn’t to judge anyone who does choose to create with AI. I am sure many people can do so without stunting their intellect. But if genius really does involve more perspiration than inspiration, as the famous saying claims, I’d much prefer to sweat it out myself.

David Robson’s latest book is The Laws of Connection: 13 social strategies that will transform your life. If you have a question that you would like answered in his column, please send him a message at davidrobson.me/contact  %!s()

It was 3 a.m., and she stood shining a flashlight in my eyes, rousing me from a deep sleep.

"What people?" I asked.

Despite her being more than 80 years old, she looked young, if not angelic, as I tried to wake myself from a deep sleep.

I went through the list of who wasn't there — dad was in the hospital, her son/my brother didn't live nearby, so he was home, her brother Joe was down the street at his house.

Then she said, "It's getting late in the summer now. We have to go to the cottage and close it up before winter." This cottage was no longer in the family, but I nodded and reassured her that we would handle it very soon.

She noticed I had tears in my eyes. I was upset that her memory was failing her. I can't recall whether she went back to her bedroom then or stayed with me.

I became my parents' caretaker

My father had been admitted to the hospital and, without him there in the house, she was clearly lost. I had known that she was showing signs of dementia, but I never thought it was this bad.

So when I heard that my father had fallen and was hospitalized, I packed up and headed to Northeast Pennsylvania to try to help them both. That day, I became the long-distance caretaker of my parents, who lived about a five-hour drive from DC. And over many years, I learned what the rest stops along Routes 83 and 81 had to offer as I went up and back, and up and back, sometimes planned and sometimes not. I was a missile waiting for my next assignment.

A few years after this all started, at about 85 years old, my mother's condition had worsened, and she was living in a home solely for people with dementia. When I would appear at the front reception desk, she would run forward to meet me with glee. She knew I was her "person." And I would hug her and say how wonderful she looked, even though she was often wearing clothes that weren't hers, and her hair was usually askew.

I would sit with her on the very long porch where residents met with family. She wouldn't stay put for long; often she roamed the halls inside, going to her room, then back out again, then looked into the dining hall, calling it "the classroom." She was hard to keep up with. But thankfully, for some spell of time, she would sit when I visited, and we would talk.

If my father were with me, she would pull me aside and say, "Why did you bring that old man?" Thankfully, his hearing was quite poor, so he never heard this or any other insult she might toss in his direction.

She started to forget who I was

But during one visit, I could tell that she was a little more uneasy than usual. We were sitting on the porch, and I reminded her of my name; she remembered it for the entire visit, but at one point she looked into the distance and said, "I am starting to forget who you are."

"It's OK because I will remember for both of us," I spoke very quickly and choked my way through the sentence.

People told me that in time, I would just remember the good things. That just isn't true. While I do smile when I think of something Roberta may have said many years ago, or even find myself quoting her without attribution because I have personally adopted her view on something, the actual events of the final few years of her life are still in my head: the good and the bad.

When I think of how she asked me where "all the people were" in my first full exposure of her mental state, my throat still tightens up.

When I think of how she said she was starting to forget who I was, a surreal, haunted feeling emerges.

When I think of her small frame running to me with joy, even though at that point she still remembered that I was her "person," I try to push the image away to stop the jab in my gut that reminds me that soon after, I would be no one to her.

I remember the good and the bad

Time does heal wounds. Some wounds. But I don't believe that we just eventually remember only the good stuff after someone dies. Believing that the "good stuff" idea made me have unreasonable expectations about the grieving process. I kept hoping the bad would fade into oblivion, but it never did. It was easy enough to conjure up if I allowed it entrée.

Now, when my mother comes to mind, I focus on the earlier decades of her life when she was whole, growing up, and then later as an adult with her own children. Then I am able to remember the funny, wise, and even poignant moments we shared and feel comforted. As for the difficult memories, those engendering guilt and pain, I try to matter-of-factly acknowledge them when they appear. I then allow them to almost float over me, waiting for them to move on, hoping it won't take long to pass.

It took me a long time to learn that, and, of course, I sometimes fail miserably at this practice. But when it works, I'm able to stay in the present with good memories and go on with my day.

Read next

• Essay

Little was known about their lives because ship records usually named only coastal departure ports, not where captive people were born or lived before they were taken. But now, nearly two centuries after their arrival, new analysis of their remains is revealing more about them.

The findings are presented in a paper published in Science. R. Alexander Bentley of the University of Tennessee has written a Perspective piece on the work in the same issue.

Reconstructing journeys

To retrace the past, the research team analyzed tooth enamel from 152 people. Their remains were excavated in 2007 and 2008 after being discovered during construction of the island's first commercial airport.

Tooth enamel forms during childhood and adolescence and does not change over time. Because it absorbs strontium from food and drinking water, it locks in a permanent record of where a person lived during their formative years. Different areas have different strontium isotope signatures because of differences in the underlying rocks and soils.

The scientists then compared their results with a map showing strontium isotope patterns across sub-Saharan Africa. They also combined this information with historical shipping logs and DNA results from a previous study of the remains to estimate the most likely places of origin of these individuals.

"Together, these analyses shed light on two aspects of the trade in enslaved Africans that have been difficult to reconstruct: individuals' likely regions of origin and their forced movements before embarkation," wrote the researchers in their paper.

The results indicate that the captured individuals came from diverse backgrounds. Most grew up in coastal or near-coastal regions of western Central Africa, in areas around modern-day Angola and Gabon. However, the chemical signatures of some individuals point to origins much farther inland, as far as present-day Zimbabwe.

The authors also discovered clues about the journeys some children took. While strontium isotope signatures were consistent in most individuals, the chemical signatures in a small number of children shifted sharply between teeth formed in early and later childhood. This indicates that they may have relocated during childhood, possibly over hundreds of miles before reaching the slave ships on the coast.

Connecting to the past

As well as providing answers about the past, research like this can also help descendant communities connect with their heritage. "Rather than determining a single destination for return, these approaches provide an empirical framework to support informed, community-led decisions about remembrance and potential repatriation."

Written for you by our author Paul Arnold, edited by Lisa Lock, and fact-checked and reviewed by Andrew Zinin—this article is the result of careful human work. We rely on readers like you to keep independent science journalism alive. If this reporting matters to you, please consider a donation (especially monthly). You'll get an ad-free account as a thank-you.

Publication details

Xueye Wang et al, Tracing the origins of St Helena's liberated Africans, Science (2026). DOI: 10.1126/science.aeb3661

R. Alexander Bentley, Recovering lost origins, Science (2026). DOI: 10.1126/science.aej4801

Who's behind this story?

Paul Arnold

BSc Biology from University of London. BBC documentary producer with world travel experience. Freelances from southern Spain. Full profile →

Lisa Lock

BA art history, MA material culture. Former museum editor, paramedic, and transplant coordinator. Editing for Science X since 2021. Full profile →

Andrew Zinin

Master's in physics with research experience. Long-time science news enthusiast. Plays key role in Science X's editorial success. Full profile →

© 2026 Science X Network

Citation: Tooth enamel reveals the origins of African slaves buried on St Helena (2026, July 17) retrieved 17 July 2026 from https://phys.org/news/2026-07-tooth-enamel-reveals-african-slaves.html

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