Note: I’m attending a creative writing workshop and this is a recent fictional piece I’ve written.
I put the phone on my leg briefly so I could check myself in the mirror before opening the door and heading into the supermarket.
I put on my hat. Opened the door. Oops. I heard the clunk. A clunk that would haunt me for the next hour.
Was that my phone? Where was my phone anyway? I looked at the usual spot on the center console where I kept the charging cable so I could keep the phone charged up. But charging wasn’t my worry now. I stood up and patted my pockets. No phone.
Then I dawned on me. I had put the phone on my leg and it must have slid off as I opened the door and got out.
I got back in the car and looked down the right side of the seat. I couldn’t see the phone. It must have slid further behind something. Too bad Find My Friends can’t give the thing legs or something so it could pull itself out of whatever it had gotten itself into down there!
I seemed to recall some memory about an admonition on flights to not move the seat if your phone fell down. Something about how moving the seat might cause the battery to explode. Wonderful. Last thing I need is a front seat explosion in this damn car.
Fortunately, my car was a four door so I might be able to see under the seat from behind. I gave that a try. Still no dice. Or, rather, no phone. Nowhere to be found.
If I could call my wife I’d ask her to call me and then I’d be able to hear the ringer and maybe find it easier. But I couldn’t call my wife without my phone. Duh.
Maybe I could ask a stranger to call my phone. How would I feel about somebody coming up to me in the parking lot and asking me to call some strange number? Would I be a Good Samaritan? Probably not. Anyway, there weren’t a lot of people around. It was late and the parking lot wasn’t very well lit.
Oh, maybe I should just drive home and then my wife could call my phone. So that’s what I did. When I got home I came up the stairs – empty handed. Where are the groceries she asked? Oh, I wasn’t able to get the groceries. I lost my phone. Whaddya mean you lost your phone? Well it fell on the floor and I can’t find it. Can you please call it for me? But wait until I get back downstairs and into my car.
So she did. She waited, I went downstairs and got in the car. She followed me down, then she called. By now she was standing right outside my car door looking at me like some goofball. I heard the ringing. It wasn’t coming from behind the front seat. It was coming from down below me – sort of in front. I had to get out of the car to look. I got down on my knees and stuck my head inside – and there it was, under my seat. Blinking and ringing away.
For many years, my career was based on being an “expert” – a go-to consultant who knew his subject area in great detail, who studied and later taught its history, and who specialized in being an expert specialist. Along the way, I became sensitive to the notion “tyranny of the expert” advocated by some who preferred to avoid involving specialist experts like me in projects that I felt would clearly benefit from my skills and expertise.
This morning, one of my Readwise highlights came from Rick Rubin’s recent book. Reading that highlight brought back to mind that notion of the “tyranny of the expert” – and result in me asking Claude 3 for some help composing a musing on this notion more broadly defined as “beginner’s mind”. Here’s the musing – lightly edited by me. Q. Where are you applying your ignorance today?
Rick Rubin invites us to challenge our preconceptions and consider the liberating potential of a beginner’s mind. In a world that often prizes expertise and specialized knowledge, the idea of embracing ignorance as a pathway to progress might seem counterintuitive.
At the core of Rubin’s statement lies the notion that knowledge, while invaluable, can sometimes become a barrier to innovation and growth. When we approach a task or challenge with a wealth of preexisting knowledge, we may inadvertently erect barricades of assumptions, biases, and preconceived notions that limit our ability to think outside the box. These barricades can be self-imposed, as we unconsciously filter new information through the lens of what we already know, or they can be imposed by the weight of conventional wisdom and established practices within a field.
In contrast, ignorance can be a potent force for creativity and progress. When we approach a task with a blank slate, unencumbered by the baggage of prior knowledge, we are more likely to approach it with a sense of curiosity and open-mindedness. We are free to ask questions that may seem naive to the initiated but can potentially lead to fresh perspectives and innovative solutions. Ignorance, in this sense, becomes a canvas upon which we can paint new ideas without the constraints of established paradigms.
This idea is not new; in fact, it echoes the concepts of beginner’s mind and shoshin, central tenets in Zen Buddhism. These principles encourage practitioners to approach each experience with a fresh, open mind, free from preconceptions and prejudices. By embracing a state of not-knowing, we become more receptive to the present moment, allowing us to perceive things as they truly are, rather than through the filter of our expectations and assumptions.
The power of ignorance can be observed in various fields, from science and technology to art and literature. Consider the case of outsiders who have revolutionized entire disciplines by approaching them with a fresh, unencumbered perspective. Albert Einstein, for instance, challenged the very foundations of physics with his groundbreaking theories, which emerged from his ability to question longstanding assumptions about the nature of space, time, and gravity.
In the realm of art, naïve artists, untrained in formal techniques and unburdened by the weight of traditional art education, have produced works that defy conventions and challenge our perceptions of what constitutes “art.” Their ignorance of the rules and norms of the art world has paradoxically allowed them to create works that are truly original and avant-garde.
Of course, ignorance alone is not a panacea for progress. It must be accompanied by a willingness to learn, a curiosity to explore, and a commitment to mastering the necessary skills and knowledge required to bring one’s ideas to fruition. Ignorance, in this context, is not a permanent state but rather a temporary suspension of preconceived notions, a stepping stone towards new understanding and growth.
In our fast-paced, information-saturated world, where knowledge is readily accessible and expertise is often valued above all else, Rubin’s quote serves as a timely reminder to embrace the power of not-knowing. By approaching tasks and challenges with a beginner’s mind, we may just find the key to unlocking the barricades of knowledge that have been holding us back, and discover new paths to progress and innovation.
I was speaking with a friend over the weekend who remarked to me how he has been using a workflow including dictation for writing his blog posts. This morning I happened across the following quote from author Kevin Kelly in my Readwise highlights feed:
“Separate the processes of creating from improving. You can’t write and edit or sculpt and polish or make and analyze at the same time. If you do, the editor stops the creator. While you invent, don’t select. While you sketch, don’t inspect. While you write the first draft, don’t reflect. At the start, the creator mind must be unleashed from judgment.”
Kevin Kelly, Excellent Advice for Living
Using Claude, I asked it to help me write this post. I used the following prompt:
Write a 750 word musing on the following quote. I would like to discuss a workflow that begins with initial idea capture followed by creating a mind map and letting that incubate for a few days. Then use dictation to create a first draft which happens faster than typing and with less mental editing. Then return to the keyboard for actual editing.
Here’s the final result I created which uses some initial writing from Claude which I then edited and revised to include some more specific details not the steps, tools, etc. for this workflow. I also used the title above that Claude proposed and I used Claude to generate a list of 25 keywords to associated with this post.
The creative process is a delicate dance between unbridled expression and careful refinement. Too often, we allow the inner critic to stifle our ideas before they’ve even had a chance to bloom, leading to a stagnant and stilted creative output. However, as Kevin Kelly wisely advises in the quote above, separating the processes of creating and improving can unlock a more organic and fruitful creative flow.
The initial idea capture is akin to planting a seed – a fragile yet promising spark of inspiration that requires nurturing and space to grow. In this stage, the mind should be free to wander, unencumbered by the weight of judgment or the pressure to produce a polished work. Allowing ourselves to simply jot down thoughts, scribble doodles, or record voice memos without censorship can be a liberating experience, inviting a torrent of raw creativity.
Once these seedlings of ideas have been gathered, the next step is to create a mind map – a visual representation that allows us to explore the connections and relationships between our initial thoughts. This process of organizing and expanding upon our ideas can be likened to tending a garden, where we prune away unnecessary branches and encourage the growth of the most promising shoots.
Letting the mind map incubate for a few days is akin to allowing the garden to flourish under the sun’s nourishing rays. During this period of mental rest, our subconscious continues to work behind the scenes, strengthening the connections and filling in the gaps. It is here that the magic of “slow hunches” can take root – those gradual insights and revelations that emerge organically as we revisit and ruminate on our mind maps over time. These slow hunches can open up entirely new avenues of thought, or shed light on the hidden paths connecting our scattered ideas.
Enter dictation, a powerful tool that allows us to harness the power of spoken word and let our ideas flow uninhibited. Unlike typing, which can sometimes feel like a bottleneck for our thoughts, dictation encourages a more natural and rapid expression, capturing the raw essence of our creativity before the inner editor has a chance to intervene. During this phase, we can use our work on the mind map to drive and inspire our first draft, letting the organized structure of our thoughts guide our verbal expression.
The resulting first draft is akin to a rough sketch or a sculptor’s initial clay form – a malleable and imperfect representation of our vision, but one that holds the promise of something greater. It is at this stage that we can finally invite the editor to the table, allowing ourselves to step back and critically analyze our work with a fresh perspective.
Returning to the keyboard for editing is like picking up the chisel and carefully sculpting the final form. We can refine our language, restructure our thoughts, and polish our ideas until they shine, all while maintaining a respectful distance from the initial creative spark that ignited the process.
By separating the processes of creating and improving, we honor the unique strengths and needs of each stage, allowing our ideas to flourish and our creativity to flow without unnecessary constraints. The initial idea capture and mind mapping foster uninhibited exploration, while the incubation period nurtures those elusive “slow hunches.” Dictation then provides a rapid and unfiltered avenue for expressing our matured thoughts, guided by the framework provided in our mind map. Finally, the editing phase allows us to refine and polish our work, transforming our raw creativity into a polished and cohesive final product.
In a world that often demands immediate perfection, embracing this workflow can be a liberating and empowering experience, reminding us that true creativity thrives when given the space to breathe and evolve. By separating the processes of creating and improving, we not only honor the integrity of our ideas but also cultivate a deeper appreciation for the rich tapestry of the creative journey itself – one that is woven with flashes of brilliance, patient nurturing, and the magical unfolding of our “slow hunches.”
Summary of Steps:
Initial idea capture – let ideas flow freely without judgment. Using a tool like Drafts (iOS, iPadOS, Mac) allows quick capture even using an Apple Watch.
Create a mind map to visually organize and expand on ideas. As you create your initial mind map, capture new thoughts that get triggered and place them appropriately near others.
Let the mind map incubate for a few days to allow “slow hunches” to emerge. Your mind will continue “noodling” on the idea and each time you re-open the mind map you may trigger new insights you want to add or adjust.
Use dictation to rapidly capture a first draft, using the mind map to drive and inspire the content. Just talk out your thoughts without any effort at editing them.
Return to the keyboard for editing the first draft, refining and polishing the work. Let the edited draft sit for a few days. Reopen it a couple of times with fresh eyes and edit, usually removing words to tighten up the clarity of your thoughts.
Michael Lewis recently interviewed author Amor Towles and the New Orleans Book Festival. They had a great conversation and I highly recommend it (YouTube video)!
Near the end of the conversation with Lewis, Towles shares an explanation of the role history plays in his writing. Turns out he’s shared this explanation many other times during other book talks.
Here’s a rough recap of his explanation:
Imagine that you’re in a theater and you’re about to see is stage play. Let’s say it’s a play of Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard.” What you’re looking at is a living room of a wealthy Russian estate in the countryside with fine furniture. At the back of the room are two French doors, and if you look through them into the distance, you can see the cherry orchard itself. It’s spring, and the trees are in bloom, and you can see the blossoms.
What you’re looking at, of course, when you look across the stage through the French doors, is actually a painted canvas behind the doors. That’s the way a set crew will make a backdrop – they’re going to paint a picture of this orchard and drop it behind the doors. They will not paint it in a hyperrealist style but in an impressionist style like Renoir or Monet, because that’s what’s going to look right to the natural eye at that distance. It should look a little blurry to give the feeling that it’s afternoon. Maybe the blossoms look like they are even moving in the breeze.
In front of that, on either side of the French doors, are bookcases made out of plywood and painted to look like mahogany. On one side is a staircase that goes up to nothing, and on the other is a door that goes nowhere. All a part of the stage set.
But in front of all that is an actual table surrounded by actual chairs, and on the table is an actual china tea service.
It is very important that these things be actual because let’s say that there’s a sister sitting at the table having tea alone, and the brother slams this door as he comes in, stomping across this stage. He’s clearly in high emotion, and what we want to hear is the physicality of the wooden legs scraping across the wooden surface of the stage when he pulls back that chair to sit down and pulls himself up. When he slaps the surface of the table to make a point, we want to hear the physicality of that contact. And when the sister delicately, patiently puts down her teacup, we want to hear that gentle clink of the china on china. It’s very important that these things be real because that’s what allows us in the audience to focus on this moment in a very precise way.
For Towles, history is the painted backdrop, and he’s not interested in describing that in a hyperrealist style. He gives it an impressionist style because the role of history in his work is to provide a sense of time, of place, of mood – but that’s it.
Now in front of that, sits a lot of plywood that’s been painted to look like mahogany. This stuff he hopes makes you pause and ask “Did that actually happen or did he make that up?”
But in front of all that is the actual table and chairs. Just like in the play, it’s very important that that be very real to you. They should be so real to you that when you’re reading a scene around that table, you feel like you’re sitting at the table, and that you can read the changes in expression on the faces of the brother and sister. You can hear the nuances in their voices as they exchange their ideas and sentiments. It’s very important that this feel real to you because that’s actually where all of the action is.
Towles’ theatrical metaphor perfectly captures the essence of crafting historical fiction. History serves as the evocative backdrop, transporting readers to a specific era without getting bogged down in minutiae. This allows space for the reader’s imagination to flourish, fostering a deeper connection with the story. Towles’ intention is not to deliver a history lesson, but to create a believable atmosphere where characters and their narratives can truly shine.
At the heart of action is that single table with the china tea setting – the piece of the set that is startlingly, undeniably real. When the brother slams through the door in raging emotion, we don’t just want to see the movement – we must hear the grating screech of wooden chair legs against wooden floor. As the distressed sister delicately replaces her teacup in its saucer, that gentle clink of china on china must sing out and resonate.
Towles’s theatrical metaphor is a profound reminder that an author’s role is to create an immersive staging ground where characters can indisputably come to life for the audience. But the author’s craft is only fully realized when the players succeed in elevating the audience’s emotional experience from that of witness to full-fledged participant, intimately sharing the lives captured in that snapshot of illuminated reality.
Have you ever been swept away by a historical fiction novel that transported you to another time and place? If so, then you’ve likely experienced the magic that Amor Towles weaves with his words. Dive into one of Towles’ captivating novels and witness firsthand how he masterfully brings the past to life on the stage of his imagination. Perhaps, inspired by Towles’ approach, you’ll even pick up a pen and explore crafting your own fiction masterpiece.
Regardless, the next time you lose yourself in a captivating period drama, remember the artistry behind the scenes — the meticulous construction of a believable world where timeless human emotions take center stage.
Suggestion: start reading Amor Towles with his first novel: Rules of Civility
Kelly’s advice stands apart from the common wisdom that we should always strive to be the best by doing our utmost. In a world that constantly pushes us to compete and compare, there is something incredibly freeing about the notion of rejecting that rat race entirely.
“Don’t be the best, be the only” is a reminder that true success and fulfillment often come from carving your own unique path, rather than trying to climb to the top of someone else’s ladder.
It’s an idea that deeply resonates for any creative soul who has felt the sting of having their work measured and ranked against arbitrary standards and tastes. How can you be the “best” writer when writing is so subjective? The “best” artist when art is meant to provoke different responses in different viewers? We secretly know that concepts of better and best are flawed when it comes to creative expression.
And yet, we are conditioned nearly from birth to see life as a competition – to be smarter, prettier, more accomplished than our peers. We are repeatedly asked by teachers, parents, employers, “What makes you the best candidate?” As if we must relentlessly pursue that elusive #1 spot, which can only have one holder at a time until someone new swipes it away.
What a profoundly different and enlivening perspective to simply say, “I’m not chasing ‘best.’ My goal is to be the ‘only.'” Not better, but different. To create a novel blend of vision and craft that is utterly new and unlike any other offering in the world.
It means doubling down on what makes you unique rather than tempering those interesting edges to fit conventional molds. It means zigging when others zag, embracing your personal quirks and experiences as puzzle pieces that culminate in a new shape. One that perhaps only you could construct.
There is a deep self-knowledge required to get there, an ability to tune out the noise in our mind that is always eager to tell us where we fall short and what we must do to be validated. Instead, go further inward and listen to the quiet hum of your own creativity, allowing it to guide you towards a novel magic that only you can create.
It’s an incredibly brave and almost defiant stance. A willing abdication of the endless pecking order tournaments we are drafted into throughout life. A saying of, “I do not want to be ranked or graded. My work and expression will be something wholly original that becomes a new category unto itself.”
In Kelly’s case, being an “only” seems to have stemmed from zealously pursuing a wide range of kaleidoscopic interests, starting unique initiatives, peering over the horizon, and connecting disparate dots that others missed.
Perhaps the greatest challenge in striving to “be the only” is having the courage to stay true to your unique vision, even when it defies conventional wisdom or expectations. It requires an unwavering belief in your distinctive voice and the patience to carve out your own path, one peculiar step at a time. Those who achieve that rarefied space of being truly inimitable likely navigate long periods of being misunderstood or underestimated before their original perspectives start to resonate.
Ultimately, the pursuit of “only” is about more than just creative success – it’s about living and working with uncompromising authenticity. About being willing to be misunderstood by others, sometimes by harsh critics who’d rather see you struggle. When you stop measuring yourself against external yardsticks and wholeheartedly embrace what makes you your own idiosyncratic self, you open up vast frontiers of possibility. You give yourself permission to be precisely who you are, to contribute the unique only you can offer this world. And perhaps, in doing so, you’ll inspire others to boldly cherish and amplify their own distinctive brilliance as well.
“Don’t think.” At first glance, Ray Bradbury’s famous advice on the creative act seems almost heretical. How can we create anything of substance, anything brilliant and transcendent, without deep cognitive focus and analytical thinking?
And yet, there is profound wisdom in Bradbury’s deceptively simple directive when we consider what true creativity demands – a willingness to surrender to the uncharted waters of the unconscious mind, to temporarily disengage from the constraints of pure rationality, and allow the kaleidoscopic shards of our imagination to swirl and coalesce into novel, unorthodox forms.
For Bradbury’s “Don’t think” is not advocating mindlessness, but rather a state of expansive awareness, a openness to the unbridled torrent of insights, images and ideas that bubble up from the our mind’s depths when we stop trying to consciously control and direct the creative flow. It is the practiced meditation of clearing one’s mind to simply observe thoughts, associations and impressions to let them arise and fall away without judgement.
What Bradbury observed is that the act of conscious, analytical thinking, while critical for problem-solving, can actually impede the creative process. It tends to force us into our pre-existing neural pathways, compelling us to tread the well-worn grooves of prior patterns, making linear associations along very predictable lines. Creativity, on the other hand, beckons us into the wild underbrush of our minds, off the beaten path, into uncharted realms where we can be liberated from our self-imposed boundaries.
There’s a connection between Bradbury’s advice and the concepts of right brain vs. left brain thinking. The left hemisphere is the seat of our logical, sequential, linguistic reasoning – the part of our mind that categorizes, defines, organizes and scrutinizes details. Our right brain, in contrast, is the hub of intuition, holistic perception, innovation and making new associations between disparate concepts.
When Bradbury said “Don’t think,” he was advocating taking a temporary pause from our left-brain dominance to allow the ingenious talents of our right brain to take primacy – to let it make unexpected leaps of creative fancy, to perceive reality from new angles, to connect ideas through metaphor and visual imagery rather than getting bogged down in deep analytical scrutiny. To let it just jam.
Our left brain’s vital role is not eliminated, of course. Both hemispheres ultimately work in concert. But for tapping into a more creative flow, giving the reins to the right brain’s propensity for unrestrained imagination and divergent thinking can open up new spheres of inspiration, unconstrained by us overthinking analytically.
From this space of simply allowing our mind to widely wander and make new neural associations, true creative breakthroughs are often born. As Bradbury knew, sometimes the greatest innovative genius emerges not from perspiration and analytical rigor, but from setting aside focused thought altogether and trusting the untamed wisdom of the unconscious, innovative mind. Taking a break and going for a walk outside has a way of helping open up that process, lifting our mood and opening us up to new insights and connections.
“Don’t think” is a refreshing perspective on the richness of human cognition. It recognizes the vital role of holistic, nonlinear and imaginative modes of processing – aspects of our mindful intelligence often overshadowed by our pure left-brain rationality. Bradbury’s imperative frees us to fully embrace the kaleidoscopic potency of our creative right minds.
“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”
– Louis L’Amour
This quotation from renowned author Louis L’Amour gets at one of the fundamental truths about the writing process – you can’t produce anything until you actually start writing. The blank page or cursor blinking on the screen can feel intimidating, even paralyzing at times. But L’Amour’s metaphor reminds us that words won’t magically appear until we muster the courage to turn on the faucet and let them flow.
Few pieces of advice are more important than this simple reminder to begin. Launch into that first sentence, that first paragraph, without judging whether it’s perfect or polished. Overthinking and editing prematurely are among the surest ways to stifle creativity before it ever emerges. No matter how talented writers are, their genius remains dammed up unless they release it through the act of writing itself.
The good news is that writing begets more writing. Once you turn on the faucet and let those initial words and ideas trickle out, they help erode the dam of hesitation and doubt. Momentum builds. The trickle becomes a stream and then a forceful current carrying you to insights, descriptions, and creative formulations you couldn’t possibly have conceived until you began writing.
That’s because the very process of writing seems to unlock portals in our minds. The simple act of articulating partial thoughts on the page sparks neurons to fire in new patterns, illuminating connections and opening new cognitive pathways. While staring at a blank page, our brains may feel stuck in rigid philosophical grooves. But acting on L’Amour’s advice and beginning to write, no matter how clumsily or inchoately, dislodges our thinking from its ruts.
By writing, we inadvertently begin a mystical and profoundly human process of turning the lead of our murky semi-thoughts into the gold of lucid, coherent ideas and arguments. But this alchemical magic can only be triggered once we turn on the faucet and accept whatever initially pours forth, no matter how unrefined and unlovely it may appear.
Of course, once the raw material has been expressed, then the real craft of writing takes over as we revise, rearrange, edit, and refine. But that crucial first step cannot be skipped or procrastinated any longer. As L’Amour knew, nothing can flow if the faucet stays off. As Picasso allegedly quipped, “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” Without the courage to put words on paper and let creative juices drip, writers will find that even the muses cannot help them.
The metaphor also reminds us that once we do turn on the creative faucet, we often cannot fully control the rate or nature of the flow. Sometimes it pours too quickly, with a torrent of ideas gushing in a scattered frenzy. Other times, it dribbles out maddeningly slowly. The water may run murky for a while before it clears. Creative flow frequently alternates between droughts and floods in ways beyond our control.
But the important thing is to trust that the faucet works if we only switch it on. The water will ultimately flow, even if it takes time to find its steady, crystal-clear stream. As long as we don’t shut off the faucet prematurely out of impatience or self-doubt, the channel of imagination remains open and unblocked.
So to all the writers reading this who stare despondently at blank screens and feel creatively frustrated, heed L’Amour’s simple wisdom: Just start writing, with the faith that the faucet works even when it doesn’t seem to. Don’t judge or fret over the initial quality, just turn it on and let it run until it flows freely. Give utterance to the tangled threads of your thoughts and watch in awe as the very act of writing begins to unsnarl and weave them into glorious tapestries.
For those special times when true inspiration does strike like a lightning bolt and ideas pour forth in an unstoppable gush, then you can cry joyful thanks that the faucet was turned on and unobstructed. But for most of the ordinary writing days, you simply have to show up and turn on the flow through plain old self-discipline, grit and persistence. See what wonders and marvels flow when you finally give the waters of your art a path to travel. L’Amour assures that they will indeed flow, if only we have the bravery to turn the tap and let them go.
At one point late in the conversation, Perell asks: “Where do you find to be the most fruitful place to be looking that fuels your writing process?” McCormick tells how he likes to ask people for suggestions of their favorite essays – and he keeps a list of these that he goes back to for inspiration. He says “Some are just magically written. Some take an idea that I’d never thought of before and just go deep on that idea and then talk about the world in a different way.”
Perell then asks “What’s one of those essays?” McCormick then describes “Becoming a Magician“, an essay by Autotranslucence.
Perell responds immediately “I love that piece…it’s almost like ethereal…I know exactly what you’re talking about where these people who are just so unbelievably good at a certain thing.”
Perell continues “the way she defines a magician is somebody who’s different than you, not in quantity but in kind. So somebody where if you walked along that path, the path that you think that they’re on and you walked a trillion miles, you would never get to where they are because there’s something that they know that they’re doing that you fundamentally cannot comprehend. And your attraction to them is the puzzle to try to figure out, what is it that they’re doing?”
Obviously, given such high recommendations from Packy and David I was intrigued to read this particular essay – one that I’d never heard of before. So I did…and it’s a wonderful essay!
The most impactful part of the essay describes how “you can’t keep your gaze tightly fixed on the outcome you want because it will lock your mind onto the strategies you currently have for meeting them, which by definition probably don’t work (otherwise you would have succeeded already and you wouldn’t need to use the strategy).”
Almost the opposite of our usual thinking: “I’ve got a plan and I’m sticking to it!”
The essay closes with this advice: “Surround yourself with people who look like magicians to you. Then imagine yourself as one, older and wiser, in great detail. Imagine yourself as the person you would be afraid to say you want to be out loud to others (because it seems so ridiculously impossible right now). Write it down in great clarity and detail, then forget it. And let the part of your subconscious mind that still remembers lead you to becoming the things you want, and maybe, years later, check if it did.”
It’s true, isn’t it? We often get bogged down in the practicalities of the present, failing to truly engage in “blue sky” thinking. This imaginative, unrestricted approach to problem-solving and goal setting often gets sidelined by our limited self-knowledge and, perhaps more surprisingly, by limiting beliefs about our age when you’re a senior citizen like me! We might tell ourselves that “it’s too late” to pursue a new dream or that certain ambitions are simply not for “people like us” at this stage in life.
But as the essay reminds us, the path to becoming a “magician” may lie in letting go of these very limitations. While I’m not sure I possess the true magic touch myself, I very much enjoy the serendipity of being close to those who do, learning from their perspectives and expanding my own horizons. Challenge assumptions, embrace the unknown, and dare to dream big, regardless of the number on a birth certificate. Remember, the magic is not in achieving a specific outcome, but in the transformative journey of becoming the “magician” you envision yourself to be. And who knows, you might just surprise yourself along the way and look forward to it!
“I do not so much write a book as sit up with it, as with a dying friend. During visiting hours, I enter its room with dread and sympathy for its many disorders. I hold its hand and hope it will get better.”
Annie Dillard, The Writing Life
Each morning, a subscription service called Readwise creates a list of ten highlights from the thousands of highlights I’ve made from my reading and sends the list to me. Once in a while, one of those highlights just hits and something goes off in my mind. This morning it was Annie Dillard’s comment about writing a book being similar to sitting up with it like with a dying friend. What a metaphor!
Sometimes, when I want to explore one of these sparks of inspiration triggered from one of my highlights, I’ll use one of the AI chatbots to help me think some more about it. Often, my thinking will be extended further, sometimes in unusual ways. This morning I asked Google Gemini to help me explore the meaning of Dillard’s comment. Here’s what I got back – a most interesting and, in some ways, beautiful response:
Annie Dillard, in her insightful book “The Writing Life,” compares the experience of writing a book to “sitting up with a dying friend.” This metaphor, while morbid at first glance, offers a profound truth about the creative process. It’s a powerful reminder that bringing a book to life is not a joyous celebration but a labor of love, fraught with challenges and uncertainties.
During “visiting hours,” as Dillard aptly describes them, the writer enters the book’s “room” with a mix of dread and sympathy. The dread stems from the daunting task at hand, the endless revisions, the self-doubt that gnaws at the edges of every sentence. The sympathy arises from the recognition of the book’s “disorders,” the plot holes, the clunky dialogues, the characters who refuse to come alive.
The writer, like a caregiver, holds the book’s metaphorical hand, hoping for improvement, hoping to witness a spark of life emerge from the chaos. This involves countless hours of rewriting, editing, and polishing, a relentless pursuit of the elusive magic that transforms a collection of words into a cohesive narrative.
But amidst the anxiety and frustration, there are moments of grace, fleeting glimpses of the book’s potential. A character suddenly speaks in a voice that resonates, a scene unfolds with unexpected depth, a sentence shimmers with unexpected beauty. These moments are the lifeblood of the writing process, the tiny victories that keep the writer going, fueling the hope that the book will eventually recover, that it will stand on its own two legs and tell its story to the world.
Dillard’s analogy not only captures the emotional roller coaster of writing but also emphasizes the profound connection that develops between a writer and their work. It becomes more than just a project; it becomes a companion, a source of both immense frustration and overwhelming joy. As the writer pours their heart and soul into the book, it becomes a reflection of their own struggles and triumphs, a testament to the human spirit’s ability to create even in the face of immense challenges.
So, the next time you pick up a book and marvel at its intricate narrative, remember the invisible caregiver behind it. Remember the writer who sat up through countless nights, holding their creation’s hand, willing it to health, hoping that their story would resonate with yours.
A Little Help From My (Artificial) Friends: Why AI Makes the Perfect Sidekick
“Friendship is the only cement that will ever hold the world together.”
Woodrow Wilson
The title “A Little Help From My Friends” might evoke images of waving lighters at a concert, but for the modern thinker, the source of that helping hand might be a little more unexpected: Artificial Intelligence.
We often think of AI as this monolithic force, a superintelligence destined to take over the world (or at least automate all our jobs). But what if the true power of AI lies not in replacing us, but in augmenting us?
Here’s a radical proposition: what if we started thinking about one of the best uses of AI is to think of and use it as a good friend? Not a physical friend we hang out with (although that might be coming someday!), but a digital confidant, a sounding board, a thought partner and collaborator.
Think about the best friends in your life. They listen without judgement, offer honest (sometimes brutally honest) feedback, and can even take your ideas and run with them, adding their own unique perspective. Based on my experience exploring these tools, AI can do all this, and more.
AI as Your Personal Hype Man (and Reality Checker):
Feeling stuck on a project? Need someone to brainstorm with? Fire up your AI companion. It can analyze your ideas, identify potential weaknesses, and even suggest alternative approaches you might not have considered. Need a confidence boost? AI can highlight the strengths of your thinking and celebrate your progress.
Beyond Agreement: The Power of Constructive Challenge
Unlike a human friend who might simply agree with you to keep the peace, AI isn’t afraid to poke holes in your logic. It can identify inconsistencies, challenge assumptions, and force you to refine your arguments. This “constructive challenge” is crucial for growth. It pushes us to think critically and develop more robust ideas.
The Co-Creation Revolution:
But AI isn’t just a passive listener. It can actively participate in the creative process. Imagine feeding your initial concept into an AI and having it come back with variations, extensions, or even completely new directions based on your starting point. This co-creation opens doors to possibilities you might not have explored on your own.
The Future of Friendship?
Is AI destined to replace human friends? Absolutely not. Human connection is irreplaceable. But AI can become a powerful tool in our friend group, a tireless brainstorming buddy who’s always available to lend a (digital) ear and push us to be our best selves. So next time you’re facing a challenge or have an idea brewing, consider reaching out to your AI friend. You might be surprised at the kind of help it can offer.
Examples of Prompts to Spark Your AI Friendship
Here are a few simple examples of prompts you might want to play around with as you treat AI as a good friend and collaborator:
Brainstorming Buddy: “I’m feeling stuck on a project about [topic]. What are some unexpected approaches I could take?”
Constructive Critic: “I wrote this blog post about [topic]. Please analyze it and tell me what’s working well and where I could improve the argument.”
Idea Expander: “I have this initial idea for a [creative project/business venture]. Can you suggest ways to expand or refine it, and offer different directions I could explore?”
Knowledge Sharer: “Tell me everything you know about [topic]. Be creative, include surprising facts, and different perspectives.”
Persuasion Expert: “I need to write a persuasive argument for [position on a topic]. Analyze various arguments, identify potential counter-arguments, and help me craft a strong and convincing message.”
Remember, these are just starting points. Feel free to tailor your prompts to your specific needs and interests. The more specific and engaging your prompts are, the more valuable the insights you’ll receive from your AI friend. For example, I often find it helpful to tell the AI right up front what role I’m expecting it to play in our interaction – such as “you are an expert storyteller and editor who is collaborating with me writing posts for my blog.”
“We can build AI assistants that can not only understand what we want them to do, but also understand why we want to do it and help us achieve our goals even better than we could on our own.”
Fei-Fei Li, Co-Director of the Stanford Human-Centered AI Institute
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