Tag: Writing

Writing about writing, autobiography, cross posting selected work from other places.

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Creative Life

My January With AI

On the state park trail Jan. 24, 2026.

Artificial Intelligence is everywhere I am on the internet and January has been a month of learning to use it. This post includes my experiences with some of the artificial intelligence tools, including Rufus on Amazon, AI Overview in Google Search, and ChatGPT. The brief comment I would make about any of these tools is we must change how we interact to be effective. This isn’t your parents’ Google search any more. Without doubt, AI made my life better. We must ask better questions.

WordPress uses artificial intelligence on its help screen. The paradigm is simple. Define your role and frame what you want. For example, “I am a site admin and don’t have a lot of programming experience but I’d like to set up a new site and transfer my domain to it.” WordPress AI frames its response in terms of the request, often using the same language. This is ultra simple and important to every AI platform. That is a key learning point.

My main learning this month has been to ask any artificial intelligence tool better questions. Google and other search engines have trained us how to use them for decades. The old ways of entering a few related nouns or a simple phrase do not serve us as well going forward. Because AI has been trained on an enormous portion of human-written text, part of our queries must include minimal framing of questions. For example, I wanted to use a photograph as the basis for ChatGPT to render it in the style of Claude Monet impressionism with oil paints. It did a reasonable job of doing so. This kind of role-defining for our AI interface seems subtle at first, but more so it seems fundamental to the new approach needed to maximize our value.

Amazon sells stuff and uses an AI platform named Rufus. Even here query framing matters. The same type of role playing is important, yet roles are likely similar for everyone — we mainly visit Amazon to buy stuff. I asked Rufus, “Based on last year’s purchases, what are my buying patterns?” It listed Brand Loyalty, Shopping Style, and Household Profile. It identified me as someone who uses the account to shop for myself, incorrectly identifying me as a single-person household, which surprised me, since my spouse and I have linked accounts. Rufus also identified me as “price conscious but quality-focused” because I bought some Made In cookware. It also noted I am an active cook, based on buying Mexican oregano, canning jars and rings, and the aforementioned cookware. I likely used Rufus the least of the AI platforms mentioned.

With the broad database inherent in large language models like ChatGPT and Google’s AI Overview, our queries must include a way of paring potential answers down. To make our intent clear, state our goals for the tool, and most importantly set constraints. One of my favorite constraints is to write “I have 30 minutes to work on this so give me the top 3 findings,” or something similar. If I know something about what I am querying, I mention that as well. AI can provide its reasoning, and there’s no harm in asking for it.

I am still learning, yet with the long discussions I have with ChatGPT, the tool remembers what was previously said within a single chat. This is something I tend to forget when my follow up query is a week or two after the initial one. One evident thing is I need a better skill set when it comes to querying AI tools. Eventually, better AI queries will become part of a standard tool box for using artificial intelligence.

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Creative Life

Is It Real?

Photograph on Jan. 26, 2026.
AI rendering of photograph.

The truth or reality behind these two images is unknowable. I believe in a Cartesian view of humanity in which the phrase “I think, therefore, I am” indicates the isolate self, reaching to others that potentially exist, through the veil of Maya. The minute I captured the photograph on my mobile device, it left the plane of reality. The artificial intelligence rendering of it in a Monet-style impressionism is merely a variation of the original. The underlying reality of that sunrise is no longer knowable. Even I have only memories that have decayed for eight hours as I type this.

These images reflect an actuality I remember, yet not reality. Shakespeare famously had Hamlet say, “to hold as ‘twere the mirror up to nature: to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.” Perhaps Shakespeare assumed the mirror was a neutral conduit for reality. For purposes of an Elizabethan play making that assumption may have been necessary and fodder for audiences who knew otherwise to react.

Images such as these have a use in social media and blog posts. Those who followed my blog the last few months often saw sunrise photographs at the header. I post them on BlueSky, as well. They represent a shorthand of my experience on that date at a specific time. They are largely throw-away images even if some of them are quite fetching. The point I am making with this photograph and its rendering is a new day is dawning in which we can be better humans with new chances. That, too, is an interpretation, something worth hoping for.

I’m a bit infatuated with the image rendering capabilities of artificial intelligence. Of the five photographs I tried, only two were keepers, and then only for long enough to post them on one of the platforms I use. While that moment in which I captured the rising sun is no longer knowable, it was as real as anything can be. My Cartesian model notwithstanding.

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Creative Life

A Williams Project

It wasn’t a whim from the great beyond that led me back to William Carlos Williams, but the practical matter of finding shelf space in my writing room. Williams has been important most of my adult life, beginning at university. In the mid-1980s, when I lived in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a home to Grant Wood, I wrote:

Also on my mind was the idea of the professional who wrote or was creative as a sideline. Grant Wood was one, teaching at the University of Iowa to support his painting. I thought of William Carlos Williams and Wallace Stevens who worked as a physician and insurance executive respectively. I thought about David Morrell, whose class in American fiction I took while he was writing the books First Blood, Last Reveille, and Testament.

At that point in my development as a writer, while working for a large transportation and logistics company, I was determined to be the transportation equivalent of William Carlos Williams. I proposed to find life in what surrounded me and reduce it to words and images. I stole moments away from family and work for creative endeavor that was and remains important to me.

It is time to re-read William Carlos Williams.

The practice of medicine made Williams’s poetry possible—not as patronage, as I once thought, but through its effect on how he saw things and worked. Being a physician enabled a perspective that shaped his native impulses to write about what he saw, and what language he used. It enabled his resistance to the literary professionalism of his time, rendering him outside mainstream literary culture of the 1920s and ’30s.

What I like most about Williams is his attention to a certain kind of reality, the same reality that underlies much of my own writing. Williams clearly influenced me, although I never felt the security of a profession that he manifested in his writing.

Returning to Williams in my eighth decade is partly to better my understanding of him, and partly to revisit some of the decisions I made about the role of reality in my writing. I decided to start with these four works: Spring and All, Selected Poems, The Autobiography of William Carlos Williams, and In the American Grain. I read them all previously and hope for new insight. Let’s see where this goes… does my early read of Williams hold… or does it not?

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Writing

In the Cartesian Fog

Saturday Fog

Following is an excerpt from my autobiography in progress. This passage was written to transition from our first year of marriage into what would come next. I reprised the self I exhibited at university to come up with this at the time.

I embarked on contemplation like during my undergraduate years when I would wander the campus considering Cartesian philosophy, unaware of the real world in which I walked. From this came my ideas about consumerism, professionalism, and the courage to live a moral life.

Consumerism was part of the American condition in the 1980s. It still is. I felt we ceased concerning ourselves with production of goods and values to spend more time consuming and planning for consumption. When we took paying work to earn money, we wrote off that invested time as a necessary precursor to the consumptive act. We sacrificed for work, and in the process, alienated ourselves from the main trajectory of our hope and dreams. This was unfortunate for my writing. I concluded, there is a wealth of experience around us. The time we spend doing something is worthwhile. The knowledge we gain from our experience comes at a high price…for we give our unique life for it. We should cherish our memories, and use the gift of life wisely, for there is only one for us. Being a consumer was not what I had in mind.

This is important because delayed gratification was necessary for a career. Paraphrasing Thoreau, by seeming necessity we were employed. Looking back, in 1983 we made a decision, and that led us to a different question: “What’s in it for me?” In part, this is necessary for a family to get started. In the end, I came to reject this question in favor of others. I felt we could have gone on working for the University of Iowa and built a life based on that. We were called to do more than just live a life in Iowa City.

The interweaving of the job and the experience of the job was also important. It suggests a perspective on work we can own. By accepting and nurturing this reality, I set a wedge between our family and my job. To some extent, this wedge later kept me from full acceptance in the social network of transportation’s elite. To the same extent, I was the better for it. It was a subtle, but important aspect of our decision-making.

Many themes from my journal carried through until today. I wrote about the “professionalism of modern life,” drawing a distinction between a person’s moral life and the profession they chose. I explored this in the following passage. I used the word “woman” yet have always considered the ideas relevant to everyone. Perhaps I was influenced by the first female supervisors I had had since beginning paid work in high school.

In Going Home I hope to address some of the aspects of the women’s movement that seem pertinent to Davenport. The specific issue I feel most competent to address is the way women I know have used professionalism as a vehicle for personal liberation. They have taken jobs as librarians, bankers, real estate agents, doctors, and dentists as a form of self-maturation, a way of establishing themselves in the world. This professionalization of modern life is one of the most pernicious forces I see present in the world. Not because women are the ones who are becoming professionals, but because the life of a professional is taking the place that was left by the exit of religion. The modern person looks at life as a moment in the sun, a time in which we fill the days with activities.

Creating a profession can fill a life with activities that remove us from our hopes and dreams. I called it pernicious because of how a professional lives within a society of friends. There are networks of people and within the context of the network, their lives are defined. To a degree we all do this, but it is no substitute for living a moral life. More than many another life, it can be dictated by things that lie outside the individual. The professional can commiserate with his peers, saying, “oh, I have been through that experience,” and that might be the end of it. The professional has a way of looking at the world provided, and the tendency is to look no further for a perspective. Like so many other things in modern life, this is self-alienation: a degradation of personal experience.

I viewed professionalism with the behaviors and artifacts around it as having the potential to be a hollow shell. The danger was that if a person had no moral compass guiding them along life’s path, the results personally and for society would be detrimental. At the same time, professionalism was another way of subduing our native culture.

We accept certain behavior in the context of working as a professional that we may not accept at home. Professionalism enabled people to concern themselves with “my career” instead of with the greater society. In retrospect, I did not see the society this represents coming. Given the veneer of professionalism, something would fill the empty middle.

During the time I was preparing to write Going Home, I spent considerable time researching the idea of living a moral life. As humans, we must have one. While I did not write that book, its research helped establish who I would be as we entered the second year of our marriage.

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Writing

Productive Winter

On the state park trail on Jan. 18, 2026.

On Sunday afternoons I take it easy. By that I mean there is flexibility in how I use the time between lunch and dinner. No pomodoros. No new projects. No major decisions. I relax and take it easy.

The rest of the weeks have been productive. I have been in the zone, moving forward with my writing and other projects. For a few Sunday hours, it is a peaceful life.

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Creative Life

Cramming It In

On the state park trail on Jan. 13, 2026.

Canadian geese are getting frisky. Ambient temperatures are unusually warm, the surface ice is melting, and before dawn, they crowd along the shoreline, hundreds and hundreds of them. They are very chatty, although that is not a goose-specific term. They are flapping their wings in close proximity to others. We are definitely in the part of courtship with vocalizations and displays. It’s warm today, but if goslings hatch from the activity, many might die from late winter freezing temperatures. Totally weird weather is driving this. It also drives their over-wintering behavior, something they didn’t used to do.

With the first draft of my book finished, followed by the first re-reading from beginning to end, now begins the work of making it more readable. I look forward to this stage.

I have so much information that I just crammed it all into sentences, paragraphs, and chapters until it is likely too much for a casual reader to take in. That needs fixing. Another thing is it reads like a scientific journal that has been fully footnoted. I know the specific dates when many things happened and quote them as such. For a memoir, I don’t believe I need to do that so much. For example, I refer to seeing the early premier of the film The World According to Garp — written by the Writers’ Workshop’s own John Irving — on May 13, 1982 at Hancher Auditorium. Since the chapter is about 1981-82 anyway, I don’t likely need the specifics of this image. I suppose all this is part of the craft of writing and I’m enjoying the work so far.

I took up my Life of Photos project this week and hoo boy! This will be a beast. I began with the digital files and there are so many of them. The file for 2008 has more than 5,000 images! They are mostly mine, yet some are from other photographers. For example, our child worked as a stage hand on an Arlo Guthrie performance at Walt Disney World that year, and those images are theirs. Likewise, I don’t know who was the photographer for some of the political photos I downloaded. That needs sorting out.

What I do at this beginning stage of the project will have consequences for the rest. For now, I opened two windows, one for the working files and one for the “keeper files,” along with the photo editor. That is sort of a process, yet is cumbersome. The lesson learned is to pace myself and when I start cutting corners, stop for the day. I also need to better organize the keeper files. Just diving in has its merits, yet the process is anything but smooth.

So often I feel like a creative person. I spent a lot of time engaging in life experiences and taking photographs as part of it. It is positive in that I have lots of material, both written and photographic. I feel fortunate to have had the stability and financial support to retain these artifacts of a life and to now go through them to see how they can be used. Working with these resource materials is a different kind of creativity. It is one more experience in the life of a creative person and I welcome it.

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Creative Life

A Life of Photos Part XI

Sun burning the pre-dawn sky.

While finishing the first draft of Book II of my memoir I set the photo project aside. In between now and when I turn the first spade of soil, I plan to organize the “Life of Photos” project so it can advance when there is time available. A couple of things.

I seek to bring order to my large collection of physical and digital photographs. The purpose is twofold. There are practical matters of archiving other than in a shoe box, album, or digital file folder. Digital is straight forward here: Make multiple copies: one to edit and work on, and one or two that are not touched and serve as backup in the cloud and on a physical drive. The other purpose is trickier. What is the culture and its underlying philosophy of value. When the editing process finishes, what work product will be left? At present, that is an open question, the answer to which lies in the work ahead. At a minimum, there will be some slide shows, easy to navigate digital archives, photo albums, and use of photographs on this blog.

The software Paint.NET will be the first attempt at editing software. It is available for free and if I want, there is a version with Microsoft support for a nominal fee. The types of edits are not complicated: cropping, renaming, and some minor restoration. Paint.NET should handle that.

We recently found photos in an album we made in 1986 were coming loose — all of them. We started a project using a different kind of adhesive, and found it was soaking into the paper too much. We stopped and evaluated. For this project, and for any other similar ones going forward, we expect to use archival corners to re-attach the photos into the same album from which they came loose. For new albums, we will add consideration of the kind of paper used. The cultural challenge is in addition to fixing old photo albums, answering the question what other kinds of collections belong in a physical album. Some potential answers: narratives about our lives together are important. Any final work product would support old and to be developed narratives. Photography can also be art, so some of the best may find their way into other media or into a frame which could be hung on the wall.

Our family use of photography increased significantly in the 1950s. When digital photography began in this century, especially after 2012, it was Katy bar the gate. Photography became less ritualized with posed photographs on special occasions, and more a complete, undisciplined explosion of digital images with less thought and process in how they were taken. The goal of my project is to bring intentionality back into the process of taking and storing old photographs.

Our child said we should caption all the photographs so they could refer to the captions and understand the images when we are gone. There is more to it than that. Narrative context, personal reflection, and accessibility become equally important with captioning. Given the thousands of images, being thorough and doing it right could be challenging. In solving this, I expect embedding some of this information in the structure will be important if I can figure out how to do it. I don’t mean returning to photographs and entering metadata in every image. Instead, combinations of albums, folders and slide shows that tell our stories can be a structural framework. Short version: memory needs structure to survive the abundance of images. The project includes defining what that means.

While my personality is pretty cut and dried, a rational guy with a project like this, the work needs to develop what wings it can to fly into my and the viewers’ imaginations. Will it be emotional when I look at photos of my long deceased father? I wouldn’t admit it but probably.

This is a turning point in the project. Now begins programming work blocks into my already busy schedule, followed by doing the work. Once I get into the project I need to set several interim goals for the work products. When will the project be finished? I will need goals for that as well. The sooner I can call it “done,” the sooner I can devote time to other new projects.

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Writing

Beginning The Great Edit

Stack of garden seeds.
Seeds arrived for the 2026 garden.

In 1986, I wrote a friend, “A writer without agriculture is a mere ornament brought out in the cold darkness of winter’s holiday, then put away at the epiphany of his humanity.” It seemed fortuitous to find this as Tuesday was the Feast of the Epiphany, between finishing the first draft of my current book on Monday, and turning toward editing it on Wednesday.

I am consumed with passion to finish this work and make it as good as I can. I am also five weeks from planting the first indoor garden seedlings. For me, the relationship between writing and gardening is essential. I want to finish this edit just as garden planting begins.

In private documents I am calling this the “Great Edit,” a beginning-to-end reading which includes minor text editing yet holds off on major edits until I read the book in its entirety. I have read the chapters so many times in writing them, my tendency is to skip over them and thus accept them. That’s not what is needed. I must also resist the urge to make, as Grace Paley suggested in her book title, Enormous Changes at the Last Minute, until the first read is done. I finished about a third of the text during the last 24 hours.

Some of the text suffers from “cut and paste-itis.” Much of it was pulled from my journals and letters and pasted without editing. The idea was I would get back to the work. That time is now.

The short version of the book is as follows: After completing an extended childhood and education (Book I), a person chooses the path of a writer, only to encounter societal pressure to postpone gratification in that metier. Along the way, family life, social engagement, cooking and gardening, and a career take precedence — until 2010, when the world finally turns toward his aspirations. He confronts the unknowns of the same social order in which he began, even as it comes apart. Words written must now be crafted to conform to these overarching themes.

I could never get to this point without writing the book. By that I mean the writing changed how I looked at my life. It is clearer now what all the struggles I experienced since 1981 meant. If I didn’t write another word, the journey would have been worth it for that outcome.

There will be editing and additional words, though. Also publication in some form, hopefully as a conventional book to match the one already published. Figuring that out is work for later.

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Reviews

Book Review: Packinghouse Daughter

Packinghouse Daughter: A Memoir by Cheri Register is a book I wouldn’t have found except for patronizing an excellent local used bookstore. They have a deal where you set an amount of money to spend, tell them your interests, and they locate books that match. I have yet to be disappointed by their choices. One of the interests I presented was in memoirs written by female authors. They likely didn’t know the story of Wilson & Company was connected to me in multiple ways.

My father worked in a hog processing facility with a kill floor and everything else mentioned in this book through to the fertilizer processing tanks. He died in a plant accident in 1969. I worked there too, for two summers while at university. I even crawled into one of the large processing tanks to help a millwright fix it, learning about lockout/tagout for the first time. The first part of the book resonates completely with my experience, even though Register was older than I am. It is useful to know this history of Wilson & Company in Albert Lea, Minnesota exists.

Register claims hesitancy about writing the memoir about Albert Lea because it was her father who worked at Wilson’s and experienced many of the issues she mentions. I don’t know who can better tell this story than such a daughter whose father worked there and was invested in the job and packing plant employee community. She did the research and the narrative is better for it. She could have gone easier on herself. Register died March 7, 2018.

I was struck by the description of people moving from farms to the city to work in meat packing. This was true of my family where my maternal great grandparents left central Illinois to live in Davenport in retirement. Four or five of their daughters worked in a defense plant making coats during World War II. My maternal grandmother did, and also worked a stint at the Oscar Mayer hog processing plant where Father and I worked. That cohort is now buried in local cemeteries. This part of the book also resonates with my experience.

An exodus from farming and rural areas continues today as agriculture has grown larger and requires fewer workers because of computer automation and changes in operations. Those who relocate, for lack of a better term, are not choosing meatpacking as a profession — or even as a job. With consolidation in the meatpacking industry and increased automation, there are simply fewer positions available. It is hard, dirty work as well. As a result, the job-driven movement from rural areas to cities no longer exists in the same way it did in Albert Lea during the period covered by this book.

I found Register’s narrative deeply resonated with my experiences. It is must reading for anyone interested in the specific history of Wilson & Company or in meat packing culture. With changes in the industry happening post-WWII era, that culture would disappear without books like this.

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Writing

End of Year Snow Melt

Lake Macbride on Dec. 26, 2025.

Ambient temperatures in the 40s have been melting snow and ice, leaving a dead landscape. No spring hope. No winter cover. Except for the lake, it’s just dead. It’s a good time to turn indoors to my writing.

I have three chapters remaining to draft in part two of my autobiography. In the story, I just concluded leaving paid work during the coronavirus pandemic. If the pandemic did one thing right, it made a clean break between the workplace and me, forcing me to live on a fixed income. The final chapters write quickly because they are so recent. Today I created three of them, and next I write about the coronavirus pandemic plus two other chapters with working titles of “Beginning of the end,” and “New beginnings.” It shouldn’t take long to finish the first draft. Then begins the process of going through the whole book for the first major rewrite. I expect there will be three or four of those before I’m ready to publish.

After the book is ready for publication, I don’t know. I’ve been focusing on this work so long, I hadn’t given much thought about what’s next. I want to revise the first book to clean up a few things identified by friends during the post-publication period. I also must see if there is continuity without repetition. Next year I should be able to declare everything finished.

The biggest predictable issue in our lives is Social Security doing nothing to avoid running out of money beginning as early as late 2032. Benefits will be cut automatically by 24 percent across the board if nothing is done to prevent going over this cliff. If anything, Republicans in charge of the federal government are going the wrong way. The One Big Beautiful Bill Act, and the Social Security Fairness Act, accelerated Social Security insolvency alongside well-known demographic challenges to its structure. An answer to the question “How do I make up for this loss in benefits?” needs finding. Counting on the Congress to do something is not an answer.

What that says is I have to return to paid work. I have no regrets about how my working life proceeded and ended.

Physiologically I am changing. I know this because I adopted a new morning exercise regimen and my conditioning schedule is outpacing the ability of my soft tissues to recover and adapt. After a good couple of weeks on the new regimen, my shoulders started to hurt. This is self-diagnosed as inflammation, not a chronic problem. I believe I’m right about that. I have to take it easy for a while to let my body catch up with my ambition. Apparently I am no longer young.

In the meanwhile, it’s nose to the grindstone with the book. If I can finish the first draft this year, that leaves me plenty of time to publish a final text in the first half of 2026. That would clear the deck for returning to the workforce, something I am loathe to do, yet may needs do.