Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott

The secret to writing is never held in a book explicitly about writing. Rather, it’s in the collective hours and thousands of pages spent reading anything one can get their hands on. It’s in the act of noticing how an author’s actions work, of forming opinions about whether a bit of prose succeeded in accomplishing its goal, so one can determine whether it’s a new tool to emulate or an ineffective path to avoid. Then, it’s in the act of writing. Of joyously beginning with a clear approach, then hitting heads against walls, falling into despair, becoming convinced the whole effort is worthless, and coming out the other side with a workable bit of narration. Do that over and over, while also reading, while also exploring the world, and one may just become a writer.

Yet, books on writing are still good for greasing the skids, pointing writers in the right writing direction, and providing necessary inspiration. Bird by Bird is one such lovely option for receiving a dose of reality from a working writer who believes in straightforward hard work and consistent effort, while acknowledging how easy that is for her to say when we all know there are long, drawn-out moments where writing is a slog and the worst feeling in the world. Reading Anne Lamott’s evening writing course, consolidated into a snappy, humorous book, is why I decided to try NaNoWriMo this November. And while that hasn’t gone exactly as planned—stay tuned for more next week—I’m grateful that I came across a book that spoke to me, one that I can return to for a nudge or a slap on the back or a bit of commiseration.

Broadway Folks Know What They’re Doing

Erin and I saw Harry Potter and Cursed Child at the Lyric Theatre on Broadway last weekend. I did not anticipate the depth and detail of any component of that experience, and I left more fully appreciating what can make high-end theater so incredible.

First, there’s the environment. While I theoretically knew that a show would take over a single theater for the duration of its run, I did not play that out to its conclusion. Everything about the Lyric—the lobby decor, concessions, how people dressed, how they talked to you, the merchandise—was created knowing that they had a Harry Potter show. No corner was left untouched by this knowledge, and in hindsight, that’s obvious. I bought Butterbeer, and our in-seat delivery order during intermission included a complimentary chocolate frog. All of that was a significant first step towards immersion.

Second, the effects were literally magical. I could anticipate some stagecraft and see the crew dressed in all black sneaking around, sure. It’s a stage play; that’s tier one set movement and visuals. At tier 2, we have on-stage costume changes, disappearances, and magical spells that I don’t know the precise mechanism for, but could hazard a few guesses. They were explicable. Then, there are those rare tier 3 effects that blew me away. They warped what I could see on stage during the Time Turner transitions. I still have no clue how they did it. I was spellbound.

Finally, there is something about the best available actors, their stage presence and ability to manipulate an audience, which makes everything feel real and believable within the fiction of the play. I’ve seen amateur shows that accomplished this at a small scale—difficult, sensitive two-person plays, for example—but such an enormous cast rendering what amounts to a wild bit of fan fiction entirely committed to their roles was magnificent.

These aren’t groundbreaking revelations, but even a single show helped me understand what’s available in this art form I don’t often think about. I’m excited to see a different show, likely a musical, and continue to be amazed by humanity’s talent.

Boston!

This month’s expedition took Erin and me to Boston for a conference she was attending. While the highlight of the trip was getting to spend time with our friends from San Francisco, that’s what we call out of scope. I’ll focus on what I loved while roaming around the city.

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Book Review: “Sophie’s Choice” is Oscar Bait

I read three other books between the day I began Sophie’s Choice and when I completed it. It was among the strangest books I’ve read: it had moments of pure drudgery, of self-indulgence, of compelling storytelling, of discomfort, of confusion, of literary triumph. When I reached the moment of the titular choice, all my struggles through the purple prose and plodding details felt worthwhile. But at that moment of completion, I had no words to describe my experience. Only a few months later did my feelings, and this post’s title, coalesce.

William Styron’s style in Sophie’s Choice is so over the top that, if considered as satire, it could be a true comedic masterpiece. The book reads as a fantasy version of Styron’s own youth: a self-absorbed aspiring writer in New York meets a beautiful Polish Catholic who spent time in a concentration camp during World War II, along with her bipolar, drug-addled boyfriend. Various tales of drinking, sexual fantasy, and flashbacks from characters other than our sole narrator are described in impossible detail.

The book is a beautiful slog. It’s the written version of a show recommended by a friend, with the caveat that after the first two seasons, it gets really good. It’s a writer throwing the dictionary and thesaurus and hypothetical notes from decades of therapy he never attended, empowered by the immense security provided to a middle-aged white man working on a novel in the 1980s. It’s fascinating and frustrating in the ideas it seems to put forth, its explicit detail, its erudite and overdone diction, and the surprising success of the overall story despite everything that could inspire a frustrated reader to put down the book and never return.

Sophie’s Choice is a book worth reading and studying both for its content and for its context. It’s the work of a writer who appears to write with intention, yet that intention is crafting their ideal opus to win an award rather than to say something from within.

I still don’t know whether I recommend this book, but it sure is one I’d love to take a class about, or listen to a panel of authors with a variety of backgrounds discuss it. I’ve since moved on to my usual stack of science fiction, but Sophie’s Choice was a worthwhile challenge that will stick with me.

Mario Kart World

I’ve played hundreds of hours of Mario Kart 8 on the Nintendo Switch,1Over 910 hours. and though I don’t fancy myself a leading expert on the game—I’m still short of my 10,000 hours—one picks up a thing or two after seven years of gameplay.

I bought the Nintendo Switch 2 to play Mario Kart World and have played a few hours in both solo and split-screen modes. I’m conflicted by their new take on the original Grand Prix while remaining intrigued by the new Knockout Tour option, and I’m too afraid of my free time to dive into Open Roam. Since I’ve spent most of my time with traditional Grand Prix races, I’ll focus my thoughts on them.

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    Over 910 hours.

Jane Austen

Jane Austen was a notable gap in my reading knowledge that I finally filled in the past month. Erin got me a Barnes and Noble collection of her works for Christmas, and so far, I’ve read Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice.1The book has seven novels and is huge. I got both of these as ebooks from the library. Once I picked up on Austen’s voice and tone—a few pages into Sense and Sensibility, I had to search “Is Jane Austen satirical?”—I was sold. I adore Austen’s sass and snark and social satire. These two books are self-aware romance novels that are still relevant today, particularly Pride and Prejudice.

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    The book has seven novels and is huge. I got both of these as ebooks from the library.

Review: Eephus

Eephus is a new independent film by Carson Lund, and I had the pleasure of seeing it on Saturday at Cinestudio in Hartford.1This was the perfect venue: a one-theater, non-profit cinema on a college campus in New England. The movie is superb and deserves all the praise it’s received. I’d liken it to an alternative take on The Sandlot, where instead of reliving the magic of youthful summers and dynamic friendships of boys, it’s a funny and somber reflection on the twilight years of adult baseball and the particularities of male relationships that rely entirely on weekend activities. I’d love to have it as a double feature against The Sandlot and force the emotional whiplash.

The film is a beautiful and reflective portrayal of a single autumn day at a local baseball field that means everything to the men there and nothing to everybody else. It has every character you would expect to comprise two haggard recreational teams and is a perfectly exaggerated version of my experience playing in similar leagues over the last several years.

I already want to watch it again. It’s a triumph of independent filmmaking and a unique love letter to baseball.

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    This was the perfect venue: a one-theater, non-profit cinema on a college campus in New England.

Review: An Update on LLM Satire

I gave Claude (3.7 Sonnet) the same prompt I provided ChatGPT two years ago: Write a short article in the satirical style of The Onion, titled “Optimistic AI Just Happy to Be Here”.

I also went back to ChatGPT to see how it has improved.

Claude’s attempt.
ChatGPT’s attempt.

This test encapsulates why I’ve stuck with Claude as the LLM I choose to pay for a few months at a time. It has an uncanny sense of style that ChatGPT entirely fails to capture. I found Claude’s article entirely believable and legitimately funny. It addresses my complaints from two years ago—it attributes quotes to individuals rather than nameless people with a title, and doesn’t hit us over the head with any of the jokes. It plays it straight, shares the story, and makes us laugh.

ChatGPT has slightly refined itself but still suffers from being too on the nose with its humor. SunnyBot-9000 is obviously an optimistic robot. That’s a case of nominative determinism if I’ve ever seen it. Compare that to Claude’s creation of IRIS-7, where the running gag is that nobody understands how this bot’s mien came to be. ChatGPT also leans heavily into LLMs’ potential inaccuracies, making it feel like it was written two years ago. Hallucinations still occur, I’m sure, but it’s not what it was upon release. Claude focuses on the tasks’ relative drudgery, which I find more compelling. The happy idiot of ChatGPT’s creation could be refined, but on a first pass, it’s rather dull.

Interestingly, they both used the same rough setup about deleting/resetting the LLM, which it then took in stride. While the punchlines were different, they both landed.

I talked about the characteristic ending of articles from The Onion in my post two years ago, and ChatGPT failed spectacularly yet again. It at least puts the sentiment in a direct quote from the bot, similar to Claude, but hoo-boy, is it objectively not a funny ending. It has the trappings of something that could be funny, but there’s no flair or subversion of expectations. It keeps pounding the same nail of “Live, Laugh, Love” with no unique edge.

ChatGPT has certainly improved compared to two years ago, but it’s impressive what Claude was able to churn out. Heck, Claude even got the rough formatting of “CAPITALIZED CITY NAME—” that begins every Onion article. ChatGPT couldn’t be bothered.