Good Morning, my Publishing Friend,
There are moments when I read the news and wonder whether I have misunderstood something.
And then I read it again.
And wish I had.
Last week was one of those moments.
Two developments, thousands of kilometres apart, left me with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.
Have we reached the point where the people who hold our data and the companies that want to use our creative work are increasingly discussing what they may take without asking us first?
I found myself instantly thinking of an English expression:
They threw us to the wolves.
Overly dramatic?
Perhaps.
But I would rather ask uncomfortable questions now than discover later that we were too polite to ask it loudly while the rules were being written.
First, our personal data.
On 21 October, EU member states agreed on a negotiating position for changes to Europe's digital legislation, including provisions concerning the use of personal data in AI development.
One important element concerns something called legitimate interest.
Under the proposed approach, the development and operation of an AI system could, in appropriate circumstances, provide grounds for processing personal data without obtaining consent from every individual concerned.
There are conditions, safeguards and rights that must still be respected. The interests of the company must be weighed against the rights and freedoms of the individual.
To make it clear: This is a negotiating position agreed by EU member states, not a final law. The European Parliament must still agree before any change can take effect.
Which means it's a proposal not yet law. But still.
I find the direction of this debate deeply troubling.
Because there is an enormous difference between asking someone:
“May I use your personal information for this purpose?”
Or telling them:
“We believe we have a legitimate reason to use it, subject to the legal conditions.”
I understand why companies want access to data. Data is the new gold.
AI systems need enormous quantities of information as training data. Developing them is expensive. And Europe is worried about falling behind other regions in technological innovation for a reason.
But since when did the desire to compete become a sufficient reason to make our personal information easier to use?
And who gets to decide when our interests should give way to somebody else's business ambitions?
What particularly concerns me is the possibility of information collected for one purpose becoming useful for another.
We share information with institutions, healthcare providers, public authorities and countless digital services because we need to.
Sometimes because we have no practical alternative.
That does not mean we expect every future use of that information to be acceptable.
The proposal does not simply authorise Big Tech companies to collect all our medical records or combine every government database into one giant AI training set.
Anyway: Are we being turned into transparent human beings and who benefits from that?
But it does raise more questions we should be asking now, before any changes become law.
How will people know when their data is being used?
How will they understand what it is being used for?
And how meaningful is a right to object if exercising it requires specialist knowledge, endless forms, legal advice — or losing access to certain services?
Privacy campaigner Max Schrems has described the broader approach as a form of “digital expropriation” of Europeans.
I can understand why the word expropriation resonates.
Because the question at the heart of this debate is not simply who possesses information.
It is who has the power to decide what happens to it.
And then there is Australia.
While Europe debates personal data, Australia has been considering proposals concerning the use of copyrighted material to train AI.
According to reporting by ABC News, government consultation documents outlined possible arrangements under which AI companies could use certain copyrighted online works for training unless the rights holders opted out.
These are options under discussion, not a settled legal framework, and the Australian government has said it is considering different approaches to licensing and remuneration.
But the pattern deserves our attention: permission is at risk of becoming something creators must actively defend, rather than something others must ask for.
Imagine spending years writing a gripping novel.
Or illustrating a children's book lavishly.
Or translating a work so carefully that readers in another country can experience its humour, tenderness and cultural nuances.
And then discovering that the responsibility for preventing its use in AI training may rest with you.
Not with the company that wants to use it.
With you.
You must know:
- that the system exists.
- whether your work is affected.
- understand how to object.
And you must trust that your objection will be recognised and respected.
But what if you never hear about the system in the first place?
What if your work has already been used?
What if you are an independent creator without the time, money or legal resources to monitor what technology companies are doing?
This is why the difference between permission and opting out matters so much.
It is the difference between being asked and being assumed.
I work with rights. This is personal.
For more than 25 years, I have worked in international publishing and foreign rights.
My professional life revolves around a simple understanding:
Someone creates something of value.
That creation carries rights.
And when another party wishes to exploit those rights, we negotiate the conditions.
We discuss territories, languages, formats, duration, remuneration and responsibilities.
Sometimes the negotiations are straightforward.
Sometimes they require patience, persistence and more cups of tea than I care to count.
But there is a reason we have those conversations.
Creative work is not simply something to be taken because it happens to be available.
A novel is not just a collection of sentences.
An illustration is not just a collection of pixels.
A translation is not merely the mechanical transfer of words from one language into another.
Behind each is a person.
Their talent.
Their experience.
Their imagination.
Their training.
Their judgement.
Their time.
And, very often, years of hard work that nobody sees.
Now imagine an economic model in which that accumulated human effort becomes an input for systems that may eventually compete with the very people whose work helped develop them.
I'm not suggesting that every use of copyrighted material in AI training is necessarily unlawful or that all AI development should stop. It won't.
Copyright law differs between countries, and the legal questions surrounding training are complex.
But surely we can agree that the people whose work creates value deserve a meaningful voice in how that value is used. The livelihoods of thousands of people are at stake.
Why should the burden of protecting their rights automatically fall on those with the least power and the fewest resources?
Innovation for whom?
You know, I'm not against AI.
I use technology in my work, and I can see genuine possibilities for research, accessibility, discoverability and more efficient publishing processes.
But I'm increasingly concerned by the assumption that questioning the conditions under which technology develops somehow makes us "enemies of progress."
No, no, and no again.
We can welcome innovation and still ask who pays its price.
We can support useful AI applications and still demand transparency.
We can recognise the economic opportunities without treating personal data and creative work as an unlimited supply of raw material.
And we can ask a question that seems to get lost whenever the conversation turns to competitiveness:
Who benefits, and who carries the risk?
Because if companies benefit from enormous collections of human knowledge, experience and creativity, while individuals and creators must spend their time defending what is theirs, that is a rather peculiar understanding of progress.
Don't you think?
Please don't wait until the rules have changed.
I had originally planned to write my next Love Letter to Bookworms about another subject close to my heart: the talented people leaving book publishing because they can no longer earn a sustainable living from their work, including the Czech writers and translators wearing “Culture in Danger” badges at Frankfurt Book Fair.
I still want to write that letter.
But the more I think about these developments in Europe and Australia, the more I see the connection.
We worry about losing writers, translators, illustrators and other creative professionals.
At the same time, we are debating systems that could change how their work is used, licensed and rewarded.
How can we expect people to continue creating if we make it harder for them to control and earn from what they create?
So I would like to ask you to do something this week.
Not panic.
Not declare that all AI is evil.
And certainly not give up.
But pay attention.
Read what is being proposed, rather than waiting until it is presented as an accomplished fact.
Ask your professional associations what position they are taking.
Ask your publishers and business partners how they approach AI training, licensing and disclosure.
If you are concerned about the European proposals, tell your elected representatives what protections you believe must remain meaningful.
And if you work with creative rights, please do not allow the idea that everything available online should automatically be available for training to become an unquestioned assumption.
A right that exists only on paper, but is almost impossible to exercise in practice, is a very fragile right indeed.
My question to you
I keep coming back to something very simple.
If a company or government wants to use your personal information, shouldn't you have meaningful control over what happens to it?
If a company wants to benefit commercially from your creative work, shouldn't your rights be respected and the terms of that use be transparent?
And if the proposed rules would shift more responsibility onto individuals and creators, shouldn't we be part of that conversation before the decisions are made?
I don't expect us all to agree on every detail.
But I do believe we should be asking these questions loudly enough to be heard.
Because I don't want a future in which the easiest people to ignore are the people whose data, creativity and knowledge make the technology valuable in the first place.
People are not merely data points.
And culture is not an unlimited supply of free raw material.
So, my dear Bookworm, here is my question:
If permission becomes something we must fight to withhold, rather than something others must ask for, what remains of the meaning of our rights?
I would genuinely love to hear what you think.
With love, concern and a rather determined refusal to stay quiet,
💕
Claudia
Founder, The Wittmann Agency—your global book publishing co-pilot
International & Foreign Rights Agency
Further reading
P.S. If you are a publisher, agent, author or rights professional trying to understand what these developments could mean for your titles, your contracts, your data or your international strategy, I would be glad to be a sounding board.
Not with ready-made answers, but with the kind of questions that help you see the risks, the opportunities and the decisions that may need to be made before the rules are settled.
If you would like to talk it through, simply reply to this E-Mail and tell me what is keeping you awake at night.
P.S.S. If you know another bookworm who’d love these letters, please forward this on. Let’s keep our reading circle growing, hiccups and all!
*This is LOVE LETTER TO BOOKWORMS and comes ONCE a week — EVERY Monday. | 
