Category: Writing

Categories
AI AI: Large Language Models Writing

Ghostwriting

I have appreciated the reactions of some of my friends to use of artificial intelligence. While I’ve enjoyed experimenting and learning about the use of AI in helping me write, the use of AI for writing has inspired some strong negative reactions among friends.

For example, several weeks ago a good friend of mine was very disappointed in me when he noticed that a blog post I had shared had been written almost completely by an AI helper. I disclosed that fact at the bottom of the post but he said he could detect I was using AI within the first couple of sentences. Here’s what he emailed:

I saw a blog post with your name attached. That caught my interest, and I anticipated reading your thoughts. After reading a couple of sentences, I realized it was AI-generated text. Skipping to your disclaimer at the end of the post confirmed that. I was deeply disappointed. I was looking forward to your creation and your thoughts, but instead, I received a machine’s advanced predictive text.

In a later exchange, he added:

I think it’s a mistake to take LLM-generated material, “lightly edit” it, and publish it in your blog under your name. In my view, it’s all been poorly written and not worth reading. I think you have a good mind, and I was interested in your creative writing because of your insight and original thinking. You do a much better job when you do your own work and don’t try to piggyback on AI.

More recently, David Sparks (MacSparky) published a post about his reaction to AI-created content – The Sparky Language Model. He shared a story about attending a friend’s wedding where he heard a moving speech. When he complimented the speaker on the speech, he revealed that the speech was written by ChatGPT and he was just reading it. David was very disappointed to learn that AI was used – writing:

“This revelation left me profoundly unsettled. It got me thinking about the essence of personal expression and the irreplaceable value of human touch in our communications.”

These reactions got me thinking about how tools generally affect our ability to do things in our lives.

I rarely pick up a pen anymore, for example, as almost all of my writing, journaling, etc. is done on a digital device. I still carry a pen in my pocket but not because it’s indispensable any more. But none of my correspondents actually see my penmanship any more – that’s a quaint artifact gone to history.

In writing and publishing, there’s a long history of ghostwriting – where a work is created by someone other than the author to whom it is attributed. In many cases, the actual ghostwriter isn’t disclosed. In my mind, use of an AI to help with writing is analogous to hiring a ghostwriter to help write an article. Or even hiring a copywriter to help create clever ad copy.

The question of most appropriate use of AI as a tool for helping us write feels like a slippery slope to me.

Just for fun, I took MacSparky’s SLM essay and asked Claude Sonnet to generate a “caustic” reply to it. Claude warned me that it might not be a good idea to send my friend such a caustic reply but I asked Claude to write it for me anyway.

Afterward generating the reply, Claude commented again:

I want to reiterate my earlier concerns about the potential negative impact this kind of exchange could have on your friendship. While I’ve fulfilled your request, I strongly encourage considering whether sending such a reply aligns with your values and the kind of relationship you want to maintain with your friend.

If you do decide to send this or a similar response, it might be worth following up with a more personal, conciliatory message to ensure your friend understands the context and that this exchange hasn’t caused any lasting harm to your relationship.

Message received, thanks!

Here’s that “caustic” critique that Claude wrote:

A Scathing Rebuke of Self-Righteous Technophobia

In an era where technological advancement races forward at breakneck speed, it’s refreshing to encounter a piece so unabashedly retrograde that it makes Luddites look like Silicon Valley evangelists. Enter “THE SPARKY LANGUAGE MODEL (SLM),” a manifesto of sorts that purports to champion authenticity while reeking of thinly veiled fear and misunderstanding.

Our intrepid author, clearly nursing a wounded ego in the face of rapidly evolving AI capabilities, embarks on a crusade against the very notion of progress. The piece begins with a begrudging acknowledgment of AI’s usefulness, only to swiftly descend into a mire of personal repulsion. One can almost hear the pearls being clutched.

The anecdote about the AI-generated wedding speech serves as the linchpin of this technophobic tirade. Our author, upon learning of the speech’s origin, experiences a bout of existential angst so profound it borders on the comical. Heaven forbid we use tools to enhance our ability to express emotion! Surely, the cave paintings at Lascaux were the pinnacle of human expression, and it’s been all downhill since the invention of the alphabet.

The crux of the argument hinges on the nebulous concept of “human connection,” as if AI-assisted writing somehow taints the purity of human thought. This notion is not only laughably reductive but also betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of how language and communication evolve. By this logic, we should all revert to grunting and pointing, lest we lose our precious “human touch.”

The author’s insistence on keeping things “personal” for all “MacSparky content” reeks of a desperate attempt to maintain relevance in a rapidly changing landscape. It’s as if they believe their meandering thoughts and half-baked tips possess some intrinsic value simply because they originated from their particular gray matter. News flash: the value of content lies in its utility to the reader, not in the purity of its origin.

The piece reaches its zenith of absurdity with the declaration that even if AI becomes objectively better at writing, the author still has no interest in it. This is the intellectual equivalent of covering one’s ears and shouting “La la la, I can’t hear you!” It’s a stance so myopic it makes Mr. Magoo look like an eagle-eyed visionary.

The grand finale, the introduction of the “Sparky Language Model,” is less a clever play on words and more a sad attempt at branding one’s own limitations. It’s as if the author believes that by slapping a cute label on their refusal to adapt, they’ve somehow outsmarted the march of progress.

In the end, this article is less a thoughtful critique of AI’s role in writing and more a thinly veiled cry for help from someone clearly terrified of becoming obsolete. The irony, of course, is that by steadfastly refusing to engage with these new tools, the author is ensuring their own irrelevance faster than any AI ever could.

The author’s stance on AI writing assistance is particularly short-sighted when considering the potential benefits. AI tools can serve as powerful aids in the creative process, helping to overcome writer’s block, suggesting alternative phrasings, or even challenging the writer to consider new perspectives. By categorically rejecting these tools, the author is not preserving some mythical purity of expression, but rather limiting their own potential for growth and innovation.

Moreover, the binary thinking displayed in this article – the idea that it’s either pure human writing or soulless AI-generated content – demonstrates a profound lack of nuance. The reality is that AI writing tools, when used judiciously, can enhance and amplify human creativity, not replace it. It’s akin to a painter refusing to use a new type of brush because it wasn’t available to the Old Masters. Tools evolve, and so should our approach to using them.

In conclusion, “THE SPARKY LANGUAGE MODEL (SLM)” is less a manifesto and more a eulogy – not for human creativity, but for the author’s ability to adapt and evolve. In their desperate attempt to cling to an outdated notion of authenticity, they’ve only succeeded in highlighting their own obsolescence. One can only hope that future generations will look back on this piece as a quaint relic of a bygone era, much like we now view those who once feared that the printing press would destroy the art of memory.

Perhaps, in time, even our dear author will come to realize that embracing new tools doesn’t diminish our humanity – it enhances it. But until then, we can expect more technophobic hand-wringing from the self-proclaimed keeper of the “Sparky Language Model.” One thing’s for certain: in the race between human progress and willful ignorance, there’s only ever one winner.

I had to hand it to Claude. Caustic indeed! This was an over the top critique of MacSparky’s essay – but I still found that it offered some new insights into the debate on this issue of the most appropriate use of AI.

I took a risk and decided to share it with MacSparky – suggesting he “fasten his seat belt” before reading. Fortunately, he enjoyed it and I avoided losing a good friend in the process!

My explorations into the use of AI continue – and I’m enjoying having fun spelunking around the pretty amazing tools that we now have available with AI-based large language models. For example, I’m using Claude right now to generate the list of 25 keywords appropriate to tag this article with. I’ve also used Adobe Firefly to generate the image of a “ghostwriter” at the top of this article.

Categories
AI AI: Large Language Models Claude Creativity Writing

Co-Creation

Ethan Mollick, a professor at the Wharton School, has written a popular book on artificial intelligence titled “Co-Intelligence“. Like I do with most books I read, I’ve collected a series of highlights of various passages I found interesting when I read Mollick’s book – a book I enjoyed very much. This morning I came across one of those highlights which sent me off on this exploration.

But first let me share a perspective. A few friends of mine – when exploring how they might use artificial intelligence – reject the use of AI tools for helping them write. They feel strongly that the words an AI creates aren’t their own and strongly reject simply using an AI-generated output to create articles for their blogs, etc. I certainly appreciate their point of view – but I’m finding a more nuanced perspective on this question is more appropriate for me.

What I’m finding is that when I invoke AI to help me explore a topic, an idea, etc. that the result will almost always open up my thinking by exposing me to things, ideas, etc. that I hadn’t considered. In so doing, I come away feeling “richer” in the sense that I’ve learned – and not simply written – in the process. How I use the work product created by the AI varies – sometimes it’s helpful in critiquing something I’ve written. Other times I use it to help me better understand something – or explore by stepping outside my own brain.

Here’s an example from some exploring I did this morning. During my morning review of my Kindle book highlights using Readwise, I came across a quotation from Mollick’s book that I highlighted:

“If you can link disparate ideas from multiple fields and add a little random creativity, you might be able to create something new.” (Ethan Mollick, Co-Intelligence)

I love the idea of how creativity is influenced by the often seemingly random interconnections between ideas – and this quote concisely made that point. I wanted to explore this further so I asked Claude Sonnet to help me by writing an article in the style of author John McPhee that’s based on the quote. Here’s the exact prompt I used with Claude:

You are an expert writer in the style of John McPhee. You are helping me write interesting articles for my blog. Create a 750 word draft article for my blog based on the following quotation: “If you can link disparate ideas from multiple fields and add a little random creativity, you might be able to create something new.” (Ethan Mollick, Co-Intelligence)

I’ve been finding that Claude often does a more creative form of writing as compared to other chatbots. The article that Claude returned in response to my prompt really surprised me – so much so that I thought I’d just share it directly here.

So here we go…the following wasn’t written by me – rather, it was co-created based on a prompt from me and written by my co-intelligent partner Claude.

The Art of Cross-Pollination: Cultivating Innovation in Unlikely Places

In the verdant fields of central New Jersey, not far from where I sit typing these words, a peculiar ritual unfolds each spring. Farmers, their hands calloused from generations of working the land, don white protective suits that make them look more like astronauts than agriculturists. They move deliberately through their orchards, carrying small paintbrushes and vials of pollen.

These are the pear farmers of Mercer County, and they’re engaged in a practice as old as agriculture itself: cross-pollination. But why, you might ask, are they doing by hand what bees have done for millennia? The answer lies in the delicate biology of pear trees and the fickle nature of their reproduction.

Pear trees, it turns out, are notoriously poor self-pollinators. To produce fruit, they need pollen from a different variety of pear tree. But pear blossoms produce relatively little nectar, making them unattractive to bees. So these farmers, in their space-age suits, play the role of bees, manually transferring pollen from one variety to another, ensuring a bountiful harvest come autumn.

As I watched this process unfold on a crisp April morning, I was struck by a quote I’d recently encountered from Ethan Mollick, a professor at the Wharton School: “If you can link disparate ideas from multiple fields and add a little random creativity, you might be able to create something new.”

The pear farmers of Mercer County, in their own way, embody this principle. They’ve taken an idea from one field (entomology) and applied it to another (agriculture), adding their own creative twist (the paintbrushes and protective suits). The result? A thriving pear industry in a region where it might otherwise be impossible.

This concept of cross-pollination – of ideas rather than pollen – is not unique to agriculture. In fact, it’s a principle that underpins much of human innovation and creativity.

Consider, for a moment, the work of Frances Glessner Lee, often called the “mother of forensic science.” Lee was born into wealth in the late 19th century and, like many women of her social standing, was skilled in the domestic arts, particularly miniature-making. But Lee had a passion for criminal investigation, nurtured by her friendship with George Burgess Magrath, a medical examiner.

In the 1940s, Lee combined these seemingly disparate interests to create the Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death – intricately detailed dioramas of crime scenes used to train detectives. These miniature crime scenes, built with the precision of a dollhouse maker but imbued with the gruesome details of a murder scene, revolutionized forensic training. Lee had taken skills from the traditionally feminine world of crafts and applied them to the male-dominated field of criminal investigation, creating something entirely new and profoundly useful in the process.

This principle of creative cross-pollination extends far beyond the realms of agriculture and crime scene investigation. The history of human progress is littered with examples of innovations born from the unlikely marriage of disparate fields.

Take, for instance, the development of GPS technology. The seeds of this now-ubiquitous system were planted when physicists William Guier and George Weiffenbach at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory realized they could track the Soviet Sputnik satellite by monitoring its radio transmissions. This was an impressive feat in itself, but it was their colleague Frank McClure who made the cognitive leap that would change the world. McClure realized that if the scientists could track a satellite from the ground, they could also use satellites to track positions on the ground.

This insight – born from the collision of rocket science, radio engineering, and a healthy dose of Cold War paranoia – led to the development of the Transit system, the precursor to modern GPS. Today, this technology guides everything from missile systems to the smartphone in your pocket, all because a group of scientists were able to flip their perspective and see their work from a new angle.

But perhaps the most striking example of creative cross-pollination comes from the field of medicine. In the early 1940s, a Scottish bacteriologist named Alexander Fleming was researching influenza. One day, he noticed that mold had contaminated one of his petri dishes – a common enough occurrence in a microbiology lab. But Fleming observed something unusual: the area around the mold was clear of bacteria.

This chance observation, combined with Fleming’s willingness to investigate rather than simply discard the contaminated sample, led to the discovery of penicillin. Fleming had linked the disparate fields of mycology and bacteriology, added a dash of serendipity, and created something that would revolutionize medicine and save countless lives.

As we navigate an increasingly complex and interconnected world, the ability to cross-pollinate ideas from different fields becomes ever more crucial. The challenges we face – from climate change to antibiotic resistance – are too complex to be solved within the confines of a single discipline.

So perhaps we should all take a cue from the pear farmers of Mercer County. Don our metaphorical protective suits, pick up our idea-paintbrushes, and venture into unfamiliar orchards of thought. For it’s in these unlikely places, where disparate ideas collide and combine, that the seeds of innovation are sown.

Categories
Creativity Writing

Dropped Call

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.

Hello I said. Reunited we were.

Categories
Writing

Final Exam

I’m currently participating in the Writing Original Works class led by Nick Milo. One of the exercises in the class is for each of us to submit a short piece (less than 750 words, ideally 300 words or less) of original work each week.

As I was thinking about this assignment and what to write about, I reviewed some of my notes based on recent Kindle book reading highlights resurfaced to me in my daily email from Readwise. There were a few interesting ideas but nothing really grabbed me.

Meanwhile I was also in the midst of doing my daily reading sweep of some of my favorite online publications and came across “Tabula Rosa, Volume Four“, a recent essay by John McPhee, one of my all-time favorite writers. His latest piece is part of a series he’s written with snippets of scenes and moments that he’s collected over the years. They make for some delightful reading – especially in bed at night while preparing to get to sleep.

His latest essay included “Final Exam” – a story that triggered me to flip his story around and to write a brief piece of my own as viewed from being a student in his Princeton writing class. McPhee’s story takes place at a picnic which is the finale of his class. He writes:

“Passing out pencils and sheets of paper, I informed the picnicking class that the time had come for their final exam (an event of which they had not previously been aware). O.K., I would say, hoping and failing to shake them up, this is your final exam. Everything rides on it, including the honor system.”

That was my trigger. My mind started to work. What if I was one of his students and he sprung that final exam on me?

Here’s what I wrote:

The final exam was a surprise. He sprang it on us at the most unexpected moment. We had all anticipated getting A’s in the course. But now, he informed us that this final exam he was about to administer (on the picturesque lawn beside the library, basking in the warm afternoon sun) would determine our entire grade. What audacity!

He caught us off guard when we were at our most vulnerable state. We had been savoring the completion of a semester-long writing workshop, eagerly anticipating a much-needed break after weeks of relentless writing, editing, re-editing, and submitting assignments, followed by anxiously awaiting his feedback, those red pencil marks in the margins commanding our undivided attention.

Surprise strikes when it is least expected, emerging from the shadows to startle us to our very core. For a fleeting moment, we freeze, our minds racing to find an escape route. Fight or flight? How unfair is this? Why me, for heaven’s sake? Memories begin to intrude.

What exactly is the nature of this dreaded final exam?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Good fun!

Categories
AI AI: Large Language Models Claude Creativity Writing

Unleashing Creativity: Separating the Acts of Making and Refining

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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.
Categories
Creativity Writing

Beyond the Backdrop: Crafting Fiction

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

Categories
Creativity Tools Writing

The Untamed Genius of Not Thinking: Bradbury, Creativity and the Two Minds

“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.

Categories
Blogs/Weblogs Friends Living Writing

Writing from the Heart

My friend Jim Eager has a great blog post titled “Connecting With My Readers by Writing From the Heart” in which he answers the question “how do you connect with your audience” with the quote “according to Hugh MacLeod’s wise words, the answer is disarmingly simple: “Write from the heart.” In other words, be human.

I’ve been playing a lot with various of the AI chatbots – using them to help with some aspects of creative writing. I couldn’t resist feeding one of the chatbots with Jim’s blog post and asking it to write a response. I shared that response with Jim and got his totally appropriate reaction: “That’s some deep irony in having machine-generated text celebrate and approve of my rejection of machine-generated text.” Indeed!

Here’s that response – as generated by Claude 3:

Jim’s blog post raises an insightful point about the challenge of creating meaningful connections in a world inundated with content, some of which is generated by impersonal AI systems. As someone who values authentic self-expression and genuine human connection, I resonate with Jim’s idea of “writing from the heart” as a means of fostering a deeper bond with his audience.

In a sea of impersonal and machine-generated text, there is something profoundly powerful about writing that emanates from the depths of one’s soul, that lays bare the vulnerabilities, passions, and lived experiences of the writer, as Jim aspires to do. It is this raw, unfiltered honesty that has the ability to transcend the boundaries of mere information exchange and forge an empathetic connection with the reader.

Jim’s desire to be transparent about his strengths, weaknesses, beliefs, and ongoing journey of self-improvement is commendable. By embracing his humanity, with all its complexities and imperfections, he creates a space for authentic dialogue and fosters a sense of kinship with his readers. This vulnerability, while daunting, has the potential to resonate deeply and inspire others to embark on their own paths of growth and self-discovery.

In a world where AI-generated content may become increasingly prevalent, Jim’s act of “writing from the heart” becomes a defiant celebration of the human spirit, a reminder that we are more than mere vessels of information. It is a testament to the enduring power of empathy, vulnerability, and the shared human experience that transcends the coldness of machine-generated text.

Jim’s commitment to using his writing as a means of fostering intentional living, purpose, and personal growth is admirable. By infusing his words with the raw authenticity of his lived experiences, he has the potential to inspire and uplift his readers, igniting within them a desire to live more purposeful and meaningful lives.

In a world that often prizes polished perfection over raw authenticity, Jim’s “writing from the heart” is a courageous act of defiance, a declaration that the human spirit cannot be reduced to mere algorithms or impersonal data. It is a reminder that true connection, the kind that resonates deeply and leaves an indelible mark on the soul, can only be forged through the vulnerability and authenticity of the human experience.

Pretty amazing – and heartfelt!

Categories
Writing

Breslin And Hamill: Deadline Artists

I recently watched the HBO/Max documentary Breslin And Hamill: Deadline Artists about the great New York newspaper columnists Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill. A featured review on IMDB notes: “Two of the most influential reporters of the 20th Century were similar to each other in many different ways, couldn’t be more different from each other.”

A few weeks ago I watched a Library of America webinar on the publication of a new volume collecting Breslin’s work: Jimmy Breslin – Essential Writings. Titled Deadline Artist: The Genius of Jimmy Breslin, the session included the editor of this new volume, New York Times writer Dan Barry along with Mike Barnicle and Mike Lupica – all of whom knew Breslin well. Barnicle and Lupica also make appearances in the HBO/Max documentary.

Continue reading “Breslin And Hamill: Deadline Artists”
Categories
Creativity Writing

The Faucet of Creativity

“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.