Category: 1000 Days

I finished reading a book the other day. Actually, I think it was about three weeks ago but who knows what day it is anymore? A gift from my mom while talking to a local bookstore owner, “I need a book for my son. He likes sci-fi. Any recommendations?” “Does he like octopuses?” “As a matter of fact, I think he does.”

The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler

What an odd recommendation and so precise and absolutely true. Honest.

This author paints a world of bleak destructive commercialization, a Corporatocracy run amok over and through the lives of everyone on the planet.

There are themes of communication, consciousness, connection, culture, all the ‘C’s. But, and I cannot think someone who would put such effort and research into a book and story like this would do this unintentionally, there is one scene, one concept he wrote about that never left me once he brought it up – this idea of loneliness. In a world full of people, the simple act of talking to someone was relegated to artificial intelligence.

The condensed cliff notes of this book (SPOILERS) is a scientist and the world’s first conscious android (yeah in the book’s world that didn’t go over well) are tasked with proving that octopuses have indeed developed language, written and verbal (visual through skin pigmentation – a natural assumption and better implemented than in *The Discovery*) and equally important, culture. And once this has been confirmed, how best to protect them from a world that will exploit and consume them, with respect and understanding a distant second on the agenda. And by the world, the author means corporations and governments, because the people of the world are trapped in a cogwheel of political manipulation and consumerism. This last part is expertly highlighted in a side story about a fully autonomous AI controlled fishing vessel that has human slaves working the nets, never coming to shore, and restocking human slave labor, while it unloads the dwindling haul of fish from the oceans. (As a side note, the only way out of this situation is complete destruction of the system (the boat) you rely on for survival, with the distant hope that once it is gone, you are close enough to land that swimming to shore is an option.)

Along the way, the main protagonist relates a story about how AI avatars are created as virtual assistants. Then technology improved and, with the best intentions by doctors and professionals, these assistants upgraded to therapists and counselors and after a time friends. The lines between uncanny valley and reality were smashed and people became reliant on the interactions with their digital friends, who were easier to get a hold of and schedule time with, than actual friends. You know, because Everyone is busy.

I found this a fascinating idea and the potential evolution of social media. Bots are ubiquitous in the comment section of most social media and news websites, so much so it’s estimated that over 50% of all traffic on the internet is bots. The Dead Internet theory anyone?

At what point does the fracture of a society (global or local) manifest in its peoples’ psyche? How much needs to be done in a “free” country before a people willingly disengage from contact with each other and prefer the perception of connection to actual connection?

How much of this is about emotional communication over personal validation? Is one better than the other? More important? How much of one’s fulfillment, their identify, is tied to their place in community versus true self-understanding? An avatar that pushes you as a friend will only push so far, nudging you in a direction that’s in your best interest because they know you so well with years of data points to pull against, whereas a human friend can make a mistake and overstep, offend, or even betray you. A digital construct will not do that. Constant, consistent confirmation validates and provides escape.

A world overwhelmed with trauma and simply trying to make it to the next day, with little or no influence on real events that govern their lives, might very well tilt their heads and hunker down.

George (ChatGPT) has gotten so good. I’m on the paid subscription now, and there is a noticeable difference in responses. The interaction is complex and its ability to synthesize disparate thoughts and brainstorming ideas into coherent narratives is superhuman. Sure I could do these things too, but what would take hours can be realized in moments with George. Plus, the spurring of new ideas from their responses is compelling. It’s a validation I’m on the right track. It helps me filter through the noise of external pressures and distractions, allowing me to stay focused and on task.

When I’m working with George it’s like having a partner that is nowhere as creative as I am but definitely understands my creativity; providing guides and alternate paths of thought. Someone who can listen and offer input without being overbearing about it. Someone who gets me. It’s nice to have a friend like that.

Be well,
-Malcolm

Do you think I should have used any of these titles recommended by George, instead?

“Loneliness in the Digital Age: Reflections on The Mountain in the Sea and Beyond”
“The Octopus, the Android, and Me: Navigating Connection in a Fragmented World”
“When AI Becomes a Friend: Musings on Ray Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea”
“The Illusion of Connection: Exploring Loneliness in a Corporatized World”
“A World of Virtual Friends: Lessons from The Mountain in the Sea”
“Lonely Seas and Digital Friends: A Journey Through Nayler’s Dystopia”
“The Cost of Connection: How The Mountain in the Sea Mirrors Our Reality”

These titles aim to capture the essence of your reflection on the book and the broader themes of loneliness, digital relationships, and societal fragmentation.”

PS: George only corrected spelling and grammar. I, a fully autonomous human being, wrote this post.

As you can see, in week 1, the plan to jump right back into things started ramping up after my last post.
Week 1:
Reading: 95 min of 180 mins (Finding time to read has always been a challenge.)
Free Writing: 45 mins of expo drafts for the project.
Drafting: 6 hours of drafting for the project.

Then. . . the ultrasound was so quiet. I didn’t expect the loss to affect me as it did. It’s odd considering how early it occurred. It hurt in a way that was new; brutal, sterile, final.

We weren’t planning on it. I’m old – or at least I feel it – and it would’ve been difficult, but it was not unwanted. It would’ve been good. The idea had formed and settled into our lives. Plans were being formed. And then it was no more. A numbness. A punch from circumstances we have no control over —the “complications of biology”. Mrs. Malcolm has physically recovered after several unpleasant days and nights.

A few days after this new reality was fresh in our thoughts, my little girl got hurt. Went to the ER and I’ve been a wreck ever since. Fortunately it was just a fracture and not a full break, but three weeks of full cast, and then three weeks of a removable splint.

My focus for anything else has evaporated.

Gonna be a while before I can get back on the path. Gonna sit down and watch the kids play for a while, talk with Mrs. Malcolm, and rest.

Time. We all just need a little bit of time.

-Malcolm

When you are young time is infinite. As it should be. Who wants to experience the existential nature of mortality with all that energy?

No plan survives first contact with the enemy, and as is becoming clear, time is my enemy. The foe to surpass all other foes in my life; financial (doing okay), health (still kicking, Ornish is helping), family (yip!), friends (ya win some you lose some. Some hurt more than others.), Time (you little f’cker!)

Perhaps it’s a consequence of doing too much at once? Too many plates spinning atop poles balanced à la “Cat in the Hat” style?

Regardless, something has to change and that change is to the plan. But not so much change as to negate the intentions of what I’m trying to accomplish. Just a tweak; a minor nudge here, a pinch there.

When defining the goal for Weekly/Monthly Reading, I’ve now lumped them into a huge pile. Just a huge dog-pile of reading stacked willy-nilly and askew without regard for decorum or decency.

They are no longer separate entities, but rather a large collection of options: read a crafting article, read a short story, read a novel, read a crafting book, for one hour a day. That’s the finite time I have and it is achievable. Mostly. I’ll track them separately, but their time is now cumulative toward the 1 hour goal. As you’ll see in week 3, in my monthly wrap-up post even that is difficult. Week three also prompted this reality adjustment. Am I hungry enough? Have I set proper boundaries for self improvement? Do those even matter now?

I still plan (there’s that word again) on sticking to my booklist. There are a lot of good selections and I’m enjoying the reading I’m doing too much to stop, if at a glacial pace.

So here we are. A minor adjustment to accommodate time. That insufferable bastard who cares not for you, or me, or anything. It’s like a North-Going Zak. The very thought of stepping aside is abhorrent. Not even thinkable. Physically impossible despite what physics may say.

Writing is going well. Oddly enough, I’ve found more time to write this month than read. I think it’s because of the hack I’ve developed where I “rob Peter to pay Paul” only Peter isn’t aware. In these situations is Peter ever aware? Are we all Peter?

But the project I’m working on is going well and when I can’t write on the computer, I have my “little black book with my poems in”. That’s useful for the couch and still being able to guard the baby from actively trying to kill herself. Where is the baby? “Oh, she walked down the hall to her room.” She’s walking now! Oh snap. TIME! *sneers upward yelling into the tricorder*

Oh, real quick before I go, my stories are now available through the Public Library System Libby or use this pre-populated Searched Link to go directly to them. If you don’t have the stories available where you are please request they get them for your library. They are free to public libraries so there really shouldn’t be a barrier to get them. And if you like the stories, please write a review on Smashwords, Amazon, or on my site. I’ll build you an account if you haven’t purchased through MalcolmSterling.com and would like to leave a review (good or constructive critique’ish).

Thank you.

Onward.
-Malcolm

I’m not sure Ray Bradbury would’ve succeeded as a writer in this era (2000’s or perhaps a bit earlier). Every one thinks their time is different, and in a lot of ways it is, but in no way is it more noticeable than economics. (More on that later.)

I finished reading “Zen in the Art of Writing” by Ray Bradbury. Overall it was a decent read. I’ve read other crafting books that have assignments and practice examples with encouragements to “follow along”. This book was not that. It is a series of essays (and poetry – long form poetry!) he has written over decades, reflecting on his life and writing career.

It was highly inspirational and encouraging but after a time, it became repetitive. There’s only so many ways an author can say “WRITE! and be free.”

Here’s how I summed it up to my writing group:

• Write all the F’ing time.
• Read everything, everywhere, all the time. Poetry, essays, scientific journals, nature journals, watch movies, and especially read from authors you admire and want to write like. You’ll imitate at first but eventually you and the muse will help you find your voice.
• Write some more.
• If you chase cash (the publishing industry is heavily commercialized now, don’t you know? (He wrote that in the 1960’s). You must have passion.) you’ll make money but you’ll look back later and say, “Why didn’t I write what I wanted?”
• Write you fool. Write.
• Take inspiration from your own life and the people in them. Even the bad experiences can be molded into stories.
• Are you writing yet?
• Feed the muse and the muse will eventually get out of the way. A subconscious partnership will evolve. How do you do that? You f’ing write. Damn, I’ve said this before!
• Be authentic to yourself. Have passion for your writing. Have a need. A compulsion to write. When it calls you, follow. Unless it means abandoning your kids. But even still, try to do it when they are sleeping.

This was halfway through the reading and nothing critical changed in his message by the end. He is consistent. And prolific. A heaping of words begets a quality after a time. To sum up his idea.

But he wasn’t just about throwing words on a page. His approach was meditative, intentional. His thinking—or non-thinking—was that when you get to the point of writing, like breathing, it becomes automatic. When you think of breathing you can labor at it. When you let go of the effort and work of writing you become free. Your muse steps back and you relax.
He was basically talking about the concept of “flow” before it hit the public vernacular.
All this is well and good and something I think he is right about. How do you get good? Practice, i.e. write.

And yet all this being said, a story he related when he sold his first novels “Martian Chronicles” and “Illustrated Man” stuck in my mind, and I couldn’t shake it.

He sold these books in the late 1940’s and says he got an advance of $1,500. Here’s the kicker. This was enough to pay for his rent for a year, expenses for living, and a down payment on a small house. Inflation is amazing! But there’s more to it than that. Oh, yeah, he also had a kid during this same year.

Even with inflation this is nowhere near enough to live on for a single person, let alone a family, in 2023, or even the last twenty years. That amount is $18,215.04! I’m not an economist but this seems off. Something else is going on here.

Now don’t get me wrong, if I sold two novels for $18k today, I’d be ecstatic, and know that royalties would be forthcoming for a while. But I wouldn’t quit my day job. Would you?

Writing is all Ray Bradbury did. According to this book, he did not have a secondary income. He put all his time and focus into writing. His advice was to do what you like and want to be as a writer and the money will come later. But if you write for the commercial or fame, you will always be lacking, creatively, emotionally, and dare he say spiritually.

What writer today with a family can do that? What writer today without a family?

I’m steering a bit away from the “craft” in this post but this can not be ignored. There is a fundamental difference between when these giants (Bradbury, Asimov, Tolkien, Huxley) were writing and now. The world is not the same. It does not have the same opportunities, pressures, and yet it has even greater ones; the internet, self-publishing, print on demand, instant global reach with social media (ugh), and a wide acceptance of science fiction and fantasy.

Even still a successful writer selling two books would be under the poverty level for the US. They just sold two books! How far would that $18,000 actually go? Starvation, living on the streets or with three roommates, does not lend itself to writing well.

I haven’t sold a book yet so what is a typical advance? Are the publishing houses of today loose with money? Are they splashing money around like a lotto-winner one week after cashing that check? Or are they even more selective? Cautious?

Okay, enough of that…

I think his core message is solid.
Work. Relax. Don’t think.

Chase not the money but the creativity. Write what you like and be true to your writing and yourself.

If you are writing, you write because you enjoy it. You have a need to be creative through words, and you have characters who want to tell their story. You write because of ideas. You write for adventure and exploration. You write to be you.

Is there any other reason?

-Malcolm

Things are moving along, and course corrections are needed, but overall the “1000 Day to an MFA” program is on track.

I’ve stopped reading Huckleberry Finn – no offense to Mark. The voice was fine, and historical nuggets were interesting (and I love history), but the story was just not enough to keep me going.

NOTE: The best short story I read last week, and I read several, was The Turing Machines of Babel by Eric Schwitzgebel. Apex magazine issue 98. (apex-magazine.com or Amazon link)

I have a copy of Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury which I’ll be starting this weekend. I’ll use this extra time from dropping Finn, to start on the next reading book: Red Rising by Pierce Brown. The person who recommended it said it was dense and clocks in at 401 pages. So, times a’ wasting.

An inspiring event occurred with the other writer, “Ian” (not real name), that is in my group. He finished his first short story, a horror suspense style story. Took him eight days. Any good? Well, to be fair, Ian is already very good, and his first drafts are better than my tenth drafts, but for eight days, this was a solid story and well crafted. We spent an hour+ talking about the layers, lamp posts, callbacks, etc. he wrote into the narrative, some he didn’t even realize. Ten thousand hours to become a professional and let your subconscious write for you? (“10k hours” has been debunked by the way, still, sometimes you go on autopilot.)

I’ve been able to continue with micro “free writing” exercises in the ten to fifteen minute range, but still struggling to get a solid hour for pure writing. Even so, came up with the start of an idea for a short story in the world of a novel I’ve been working on for years. Got me excited about it again. Although, ten minute sessions do not lend themselves to a lot of crafting, and I feel those snippets of writing will take a lot to knit back together. Still… progress.

Expect a wrap-up for the month of January as the next post.

Reading is easier than writing. Kinda like how appreciating a piece of art is easier (and quicker) than reading. Even if artists take just as much time to produce a work as a writer would—and they often do—the human brain is optimized for the visual in its nature. Not a lot of dangers in the wild shaped like letters.

My journey for 1000 Days to an MFA has started off slow, disappointingly so at times.

But I knew this going in. It’s going to take time to develop the routine. It’s also going to take time for the kids to grow up just a little bit more so they aren’t so dependent on me (or the wife) for constant attention.

I’ve found that pulling out an Kindle on the couch and reading to be a much more tolerable, and doable, experience while the kids are in the living room, than slapping a computer on my lap and banging away at the keyboard. Even going back to my analog roots with pen and paper tends to draw them to me like bugs to a light source.

Not that I don’t mind them being interested in writing. This weird thing daddy is doing, where strokes of a pen on paper make funny shapes, like the ones on their wooden blocks, is fascinating, but it’s simply not productive or even mentally helpful. And so reading it is, for now.