#williamshakespeare — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #williamshakespeare, aggregated by home.social.
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King Lear review – Ian McDiarmid is a titanic, heartbreaking wonder
By Mark LawsonCrucible theatre, Sheffield The 82-year-old actor gives a performance of absolute authenticity and clarity as the erratic demagogue in a uniformly impressive production
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2026/sep/06/king-lear-review-ian-mcdiarmid-sheffield-crucible
#Theatre #WilliamShakespeare #Culture #Stage #IanMcDiarmid #TheGuardian #MarkLawson
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Experiencing Shakespeare’s Globe
By Christine Swan
Although I have now returned to work and the weather is turning its back on the summer, I still have plenty of stories to tell of my holidays. Before the end of August, I was excited to visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for the very first time. Even I am surprised that I have visited prior to this year.
In truth, I have visited the Swan Theatre in Stratford Upon Avon, and, this year, watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. The evenings are becoming increasingly chilly so I was prepared for being somewhat exposed to the elements.
Tudor theatre-goers would have experienced similar conditions – the groundlings would have paid an affordable price but would have baked in the sunshine, and been soaked by the rain. London had a choice of venues, including the Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch, now the site of the new Museum of Shakespeare. The Globe was built on the southern banks of the Thames but was moved from another site in Shoreditch when the land owner called in the lease. The Theatre, as it was known, was demolished in 1598 but the timber carefully and stored in a warehouse, before being transported to the Bankside area on the southern shore. When rebuilt, this became the original Globe, just one year later, in 1599. It is believed that the first play performed was Julius Caesar.
The Globe burned to the ground in 1613 and William Shakespeare retired to his home in Stratford Upon Avon, to die in 1616, just three years later. The wooden construction and thatched roof caught alight
The Globe was rebuilt after it burned down. This is a sketch dated 1638 of the new building. By Wenceslaus Hollar – https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Wenceslaus-Hollar-The-second-Globe-playhouse-detail-from-A-View-from-St-Marys_fig16_254362678, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=149975427
It is incredible that the current Globe Theatre stands close to the site of the original. it is testament to the incredible vision and resilience of the late Sam Wanamaker who researched the original theatre, but sadly passed away before construction finished in 1997.
Bankside, including the Globe Theatre, from Southwark Bridge
I walked through the City on a warm late summer evening. Workers were standing outside every pub spilling out onto the pavements, along with their beer. I crossed Southwark Bridge and considered how much more difficult it would have been for early seventeenth century theatre goers from North of the River. They would only have had the choice of crossing crowded London Bridge, or, more likely, have crossed by ferry, rowed by many of the watermen working that stretch.
Arriving in Bankside
I arrived to enjoy the general hubbub of a pre-performance theatre. The entrance forum feels very modern, with attached restaurants, cafe, and excellent shop.
An announcement encouraged us to take our seats for the performance of As You Like It. I had booked a seat cushion so collected this first. “Please bring it back after the performance. “, was the final instruction. Seated patrons can either brave the wooden benches or, as I did, opt for a little more comfort. Groundlings mill about before the performance, and, as I discovered, some like to move about during too.
Before the performance
The auditorium is breathtaking. The plasterwork is decorated with ornate and delicate painting. The timber columns, thatched roof, and metal gutters are exceedingly impressive. They give visitors plenty to talk about and to look at, prior to the performance beginning.
The detailing is exquisite
When the music begins and the actors arrive, we are transported to the most exaggeratedly embellished or Georgian era dress. Enormously wide skirts coupled with gravity-defying hair, transported viewers to the eighteenth century and muddled our minds and transports us somewhere else.
The play is beautiful, and fun. It is witty and results in everybody allocated their correct partner – “No sooner met than they looked, no sooner looked than they loved.”
As with other outdoor theatres, as the sun sets, the light shifts and the stage lighting shifts the focus and increases contrast. I never notice this in an indoor venue. The frequent passing of aeroplanes overhead is a minor distraction which the actors acknowledge with a joke.
The use of the set was very clever, turning white canvases into the Forest of Arden during the performance using paint, and then adding more leaves and flowers as the season blooms. This simple transition focuses the eye and changes the scenery. Musical interludes, with audience participation keeps everybody involved.
The Forest of Arden is created during the interval
After the performance ended, to rapturous applause, the groundlings filed out first, and I followed, with my cushion, and returned it to the cushion shed. The throng moved to Bankside and gradually spread out towards their various destinations. I recrossed Southwark Bridge, passed through the City, where some workers were still celebrating Friday night. past the Aldgate pump, that marked the end of the City and the beginning of the East End. The night was clear with only a light breeze. Autumn was definitely on its way but not yet at the front door.
St Paul’s Cathedral lit for the evening
I wondered what Shakespeare might have made of the night’s performance. Would he have approved? Would he be pleased to think that an Elizabethan-style theatre was still to be found in London’s Bankside.
I retired to my non-Elizabethan hotel and dreamt of the world as a stage and all of the people merely players.
#england #history #literature #London #shakespeare #Theatre #Travel #williamShakespeare -
Experiencing Shakespeare’s Globe
By Christine Swan
Although I have now returned to work and the weather is turning its back on the summer, I still have plenty of stories to tell of my holidays. Before the end of August, I was excited to visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for the very first time. Even I am surprised that I have visited prior to this year.
In truth, I have visited the Swan Theatre in Stratford Upon Avon, and, this year, watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. The evenings are becoming increasingly chilly so I was prepared for being somewhat exposed to the elements.
Tudor theatre-goers would have experienced similar conditions – the groundlings would have paid an affordable price but would have baked in the sunshine, and been soaked by the rain. London had a choice of venues, including the Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch, now the site of the new Museum of Shakespeare. The Globe was built on the southern banks of the Thames but was moved from another site in Shoreditch when the land owner called in the lease. The Theatre, as it was known, was demolished in 1598 but the timber carefully and stored in a warehouse, before being transported to the Bankside area on the southern shore. When rebuilt, this became the original Globe, just one year later, in 1599. It is believed that the first play performed was Julius Caesar.
The Globe burned to the ground in 1613 and William Shakespeare retired to his home in Stratford Upon Avon, to die in 1616, just three years later. The wooden construction and thatched roof caught alight
The Globe was rebuilt after it burned down. This is a sketch dated 1638 of the new building. By Wenceslaus Hollar – https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Wenceslaus-Hollar-The-second-Globe-playhouse-detail-from-A-View-from-St-Marys_fig16_254362678, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=149975427
It is incredible that the current Globe Theatre stands close to the site of the original. it is testament to the incredible vision and resilience of the late Sam Wanamaker who researched the original theatre, but sadly passed away before construction finished in 1997.
Bankside, including the Globe Theatre, from Southwark Bridge
I walked through the City on a warm late summer evening. Workers were standing outside every pub spilling out onto the pavements, along with their beer. I crossed Southwark Bridge and considered how much more difficult it would have been for early seventeenth century theatre goers from North of the River. They would only have had the choice of crossing crowded London Bridge, or, more likely, have crossed by ferry, rowed by many of the watermen working that stretch.
Arriving in Bankside
I arrived to enjoy the general hubbub of a pre-performance theatre. The entrance forum feels very modern, with attached restaurants, cafe, and excellent shop.
An announcement encouraged us to take our seats for the performance of As You Like It. I had booked a seat cushion so collected this first. “Please bring it back after the performance. “, was the final instruction. Seated patrons can either brave the wooden benches or, as I did, opt for a little more comfort. Groundlings mill about before the performance, and, as I discovered, some like to move about during too.
Before the performance
The auditorium is breathtaking. The plasterwork is decorated with ornate and delicate painting. The timber columns, thatched roof, and metal gutters are exceedingly impressive. They give visitors plenty to talk about and to look at, prior to the performance beginning.
The detailing is exquisite
When the music begins and the actors arrive, we are transported to the most exaggeratedly embellished or Georgian era dress. Enormously wide skirts coupled with gravity-defying hair, transported viewers to the eighteenth century and muddled our minds and transports us somewhere else.
The play is beautiful, and fun. It is witty and results in everybody allocated their correct partner – “No sooner met than they looked, no sooner looked than they loved.”
As with other outdoor theatres, as the sun sets, the light shifts and the stage lighting shifts the focus and increases contrast. I never notice this in an indoor venue. The frequent passing of aeroplanes overhead is a minor distraction which the actors acknowledge with a joke.
The use of the set was very clever, turning white canvases into the Forest of Arden during the performance using paint, and then adding more leaves and flowers as the season blooms. This simple transition focuses the eye and changes the scenery. Musical interludes, with audience participation keeps everybody involved.
The Forest of Arden is created during the interval
After the performance ended, to rapturous applause, the groundlings filed out first, and I followed, with my cushion, and returned it to the cushion shed. The throng moved to Bankside and gradually spread out towards their various destinations. I recrossed Southwark Bridge, passed through the City, where some workers were still celebrating Friday night. past the Aldgate pump, that marked the end of the City and the beginning of the East End. The night was clear with only a light breeze. Autumn was definitely on its way but not yet at the front door.
St Paul’s Cathedral lit for the evening
I wondered what Shakespeare might have made of the night’s performance. Would he have approved? Would he be pleased to think that an Elizabethan-style theatre was still to be found in London’s Bankside.
I retired to my non-Elizabethan hotel and dreamt of the world as a stage and all of the people merely players.
#england #history #literature #London #shakespeare #Theatre #Travel #williamShakespeare -
Experiencing Shakespeare’s Globe
By Christine Swan
Although I have now returned to work and the weather is turning its back on the summer, I still have plenty of stories to tell of my holidays. Before the end of August, I was excited to visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for the very first time. Even I am surprised that I have visited prior to this year.
In truth, I have visited the Swan Theatre in Stratford Upon Avon, and, this year, watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. The evenings are becoming increasingly chilly so I was prepared for being somewhat exposed to the elements.
Tudor theatre-goers would have experienced similar conditions – the groundlings would have paid an affordable price but would have baked in the sunshine, and been soaked by the rain. London had a choice of venues, including the Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch, now the site of the new Museum of Shakespeare. The Globe was built on the southern banks of the Thames but was moved from another site in Shoreditch when the land owner called in the lease. The Theatre, as it was known, was demolished in 1598 but the timber carefully and stored in a warehouse, before being transported to the Bankside area on the southern shore. When rebuilt, this became the original Globe, just one year later, in 1599. It is believed that the first play performed was Julius Caesar.
The Globe burned to the ground in 1613 and William Shakespeare retired to his home in Stratford Upon Avon, to die in 1616, just three years later. The wooden construction and thatched roof caught alight
The Globe was rebuilt after it burned down. This is a sketch dated 1638 of the new building. By Wenceslaus Hollar – https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Wenceslaus-Hollar-The-second-Globe-playhouse-detail-from-A-View-from-St-Marys_fig16_254362678, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=149975427
It is incredible that the current Globe Theatre stands close to the site of the original. it is testament to the incredible vision and resilience of the late Sam Wanamaker who researched the original theatre, but sadly passed away before construction finished in 1997.
Bankside, including the Globe Theatre, from Southwark Bridge
I walked through the City on a warm late summer evening. Workers were standing outside every pub spilling out onto the pavements, along with their beer. I crossed Southwark Bridge and considered how much more difficult it would have been for early seventeenth century theatre goers from North of the River. They would only have had the choice of crossing crowded London Bridge, or, more likely, have crossed by ferry, rowed by many of the watermen working that stretch.
Arriving in Bankside
I arrived to enjoy the general hubbub of a pre-performance theatre. The entrance forum feels very modern, with attached restaurants, cafe, and excellent shop.
An announcement encouraged us to take our seats for the performance of As You Like It. I had booked a seat cushion so collected this first. “Please bring it back after the performance. “, was the final instruction. Seated patrons can either brave the wooden benches or, as I did, opt for a little more comfort. Groundlings mill about before the performance, and, as I discovered, some like to move about during too.
Before the performance
The auditorium is breathtaking. The plasterwork is decorated with ornate and delicate painting. The timber columns, thatched roof, and metal gutters are exceedingly impressive. They give visitors plenty to talk about and to look at, prior to the performance beginning.
The detailing is exquisite
When the music begins and the actors arrive, we are transported to the most exaggeratedly embellished or Georgian era dress. Enormously wide skirts coupled with gravity-defying hair, transported viewers to the eighteenth century and muddled our minds and transports us somewhere else.
The play is beautiful, and fun. It is witty and results in everybody allocated their correct partner – “No sooner met than they looked, no sooner looked than they loved.”
As with other outdoor theatres, as the sun sets, the light shifts and the stage lighting shifts the focus and increases contrast. I never notice this in an indoor venue. The frequent passing of aeroplanes overhead is a minor distraction which the actors acknowledge with a joke.
The use of the set was very clever, turning white canvases into the Forest of Arden during the performance using paint, and then adding more leaves and flowers as the season blooms. This simple transition focuses the eye and changes the scenery. Musical interludes, with audience participation keeps everybody involved.
The Forest of Arden is created during the interval
After the performance ended, to rapturous applause, the groundlings filed out first, and I followed, with my cushion, and returned it to the cushion shed. The throng moved to Bankside and gradually spread out towards their various destinations. I recrossed Southwark Bridge, passed through the City, where some workers were still celebrating Friday night. past the Aldgate pump, that marked the end of the City and the beginning of the East End. The night was clear with only a light breeze. Autumn was definitely on its way but not yet at the front door.
St Paul’s Cathedral lit for the evening
I wondered what Shakespeare might have made of the night’s performance. Would he have approved? Would he be pleased to think that an Elizabethan-style theatre was still to be found in London’s Bankside.
I retired to my non-Elizabethan hotel and dreamt of the world as a stage and all of the people merely players.
#england #history #literature #London #shakespeare #Theatre #Travel #williamShakespeare -
Experiencing Shakespeare’s Globe
By Christine Swan
Although I have now returned to work and the weather is turning its back on the summer, I still have plenty of stories to tell of my holidays. Before the end of August, I was excited to visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for the very first time. Even I am surprised that I have visited prior to this year.
In truth, I have visited the Swan Theatre in Stratford Upon Avon, and, this year, watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. The evenings are becoming increasingly chilly so I was prepared for being somewhat exposed to the elements.
Tudor theatre-goers would have experienced similar conditions – the groundlings would have paid an affordable price but would have baked in the sunshine, and been soaked by the rain. London had a choice of venues, including the Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch, now the site of the new Museum of Shakespeare. The Globe was built on the southern banks of the Thames but was moved from another site in Shoreditch when the land owner called in the lease. The Theatre, as it was known, was demolished in 1598 but the timber carefully and stored in a warehouse, before being transported to the Bankside area on the southern shore. When rebuilt, this became the original Globe, just one year later, in 1599. It is believed that the first play performed was Julius Caesar.
The Globe burned to the ground in 1613 and William Shakespeare retired to his home in Stratford Upon Avon, to die in 1616, just three years later. The wooden construction and thatched roof caught alight
The Globe was rebuilt after it burned down. This is a sketch dated 1638 of the new building. By Wenceslaus Hollar – https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Wenceslaus-Hollar-The-second-Globe-playhouse-detail-from-A-View-from-St-Marys_fig16_254362678, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=149975427
It is incredible that the current Globe Theatre stands close to the site of the original. it is testament to the incredible vision and resilience of the late Sam Wanamaker who researched the original theatre, but sadly passed away before construction finished in 1997.
Bankside, including the Globe Theatre, from Southwark Bridge
I walked through the City on a warm late summer evening. Workers were standing outside every pub spilling out onto the pavements, along with their beer. I crossed Southwark Bridge and considered how much more difficult it would have been for early seventeenth century theatre goers from North of the River. They would only have had the choice of crossing crowded London Bridge, or, more likely, have crossed by ferry, rowed by many of the watermen working that stretch.
Arriving in Bankside
I arrived to enjoy the general hubbub of a pre-performance theatre. The entrance forum feels very modern, with attached restaurants, cafe, and excellent shop.
An announcement encouraged us to take our seats for the performance of As You Like It. I had booked a seat cushion so collected this first. “Please bring it back after the performance. “, was the final instruction. Seated patrons can either brave the wooden benches or, as I did, opt for a little more comfort. Groundlings mill about before the performance, and, as I discovered, some like to move about during too.
Before the performance
The auditorium is breathtaking. The plasterwork is decorated with ornate and delicate painting. The timber columns, thatched roof, and metal gutters are exceedingly impressive. They give visitors plenty to talk about and to look at, prior to the performance beginning.
The detailing is exquisite
When the music begins and the actors arrive, we are transported to the most exaggeratedly embellished or Georgian era dress. Enormously wide skirts coupled with gravity-defying hair, transported viewers to the eighteenth century and muddled our minds and transports us somewhere else.
The play is beautiful, and fun. It is witty and results in everybody allocated their correct partner – “No sooner met than they looked, no sooner looked than they loved.”
As with other outdoor theatres, as the sun sets, the light shifts and the stage lighting shifts the focus and increases contrast. I never notice this in an indoor venue. The frequent passing of aeroplanes overhead is a minor distraction which the actors acknowledge with a joke.
The use of the set was very clever, turning white canvases into the Forest of Arden during the performance using paint, and then adding more leaves and flowers as the season blooms. This simple transition focuses the eye and changes the scenery. Musical interludes, with audience participation keeps everybody involved.
The Forest of Arden is created during the interval
After the performance ended, to rapturous applause, the groundlings filed out first, and I followed, with my cushion, and returned it to the cushion shed. The throng moved to Bankside and gradually spread out towards their various destinations. I recrossed Southwark Bridge, passed through the City, where some workers were still celebrating Friday night. past the Aldgate pump, that marked the end of the City and the beginning of the East End. The night was clear with only a light breeze. Autumn was definitely on its way but not yet at the front door.
St Paul’s Cathedral lit for the evening
I wondered what Shakespeare might have made of the night’s performance. Would he have approved? Would he be pleased to think that an Elizabethan-style theatre was still to be found in London’s Bankside.
I retired to my non-Elizabethan hotel and dreamt of the world as a stage and all of the people merely players.
#england #history #literature #London #shakespeare #Theatre #Travel #williamShakespeare -
Experiencing Shakespeare’s Globe
By Christine Swan
Although I have now returned to work and the weather is turning its back on the summer, I still have plenty of stories to tell of my holidays. Before the end of August, I was excited to visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for the very first time. Even I am surprised that I have visited prior to this year.
In truth, I have visited the Swan Theatre in Stratford Upon Avon, and, this year, watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. The evenings are becoming increasingly chilly so I was prepared for being somewhat exposed to the elements.
Tudor theatre-goers would have experienced similar conditions – the groundlings would have paid an affordable price but would have baked in the sunshine, and been soaked by the rain. London had a choice of venues, including the Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch, now the site of the new Museum of Shakespeare. The Globe was built on the southern banks of the Thames but was moved from another site in Shoreditch when the land owner called in the lease. The Theatre, as it was known, was demolished in 1598 but the timber carefully and stored in a warehouse, before being transported to the Bankside area on the southern shore. When rebuilt, this became the original Globe, just one year later, in 1599. It is believed that the first play performed was Julius Caesar.
The Globe burned to the ground in 1613 and William Shakespeare retired to his home in Stratford Upon Avon, to die in 1616, just three years later. The wooden construction and thatched roof caught alight
The Globe was rebuilt after it burned down. This is a sketch dated 1638 of the new building. By Wenceslaus Hollar – https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Wenceslaus-Hollar-The-second-Globe-playhouse-detail-from-A-View-from-St-Marys_fig16_254362678, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=149975427
It is incredible that the current Globe Theatre stands close to the site of the original. it is testament to the incredible vision and resilience of the late Sam Wanamaker who researched the original theatre, but sadly passed away before construction finished in 1997.
Bankside, including the Globe Theatre, from Southwark Bridge
I walked through the City on a warm late summer evening. Workers were standing outside every pub spilling out onto the pavements, along with their beer. I crossed Southwark Bridge and considered how much more difficult it would have been for early seventeenth century theatre goers from North of the River. They would only have had the choice of crossing crowded London Bridge, or, more likely, have crossed by ferry, rowed by many of the watermen working that stretch.
Arriving in Bankside
I arrived to enjoy the general hubbub of a pre-performance theatre. The entrance forum feels very modern, with attached restaurants, cafe, and excellent shop.
An announcement encouraged us to take our seats for the performance of As You Like It. I had booked a seat cushion so collected this first. “Please bring it back after the performance. “, was the final instruction. Seated patrons can either brave the wooden benches or, as I did, opt for a little more comfort. Groundlings mill about before the performance, and, as I discovered, some like to move about during too.
Before the performance
The auditorium is breathtaking. The plasterwork is decorated with ornate and delicate painting. The timber columns, thatched roof, and metal gutters are exceedingly impressive. They give visitors plenty to talk about and to look at, prior to the performance beginning.
The detailing is exquisite
When the music begins and the actors arrive, we are transported to the most exaggeratedly embellished or Georgian era dress. Enormously wide skirts coupled with gravity-defying hair, transported viewers to the eighteenth century and muddled our minds and transports us somewhere else.
The play is beautiful, and fun. It is witty and results in everybody allocated their correct partner – “No sooner met than they looked, no sooner looked than they loved.”
As with other outdoor theatres, as the sun sets, the light shifts and the stage lighting shifts the focus and increases contrast. I never notice this in an indoor venue. The frequent passing of aeroplanes overhead is a minor distraction which the actors acknowledge with a joke.
The use of the set was very clever, turning white canvases into the Forest of Arden during the performance using paint, and then adding more leaves and flowers as the season blooms. This simple transition focuses the eye and changes the scenery. Musical interludes, with audience participation keeps everybody involved.
The Forest of Arden is created during the interval
After the performance ended, to rapturous applause, the groundlings filed out first, and I followed, with my cushion, and returned it to the cushion shed. The throng moved to Bankside and gradually spread out towards their various destinations. I recrossed Southwark Bridge, passed through the City, where some workers were still celebrating Friday night. past the Aldgate pump, that marked the end of the City and the beginning of the East End. The night was clear with only a light breeze. Autumn was definitely on its way but not yet at the front door.
St Paul’s Cathedral lit for the evening
I wondered what Shakespeare might have made of the night’s performance. Would he have approved? Would he be pleased to think that an Elizabethan-style theatre was still to be found in London’s Bankside.
I retired to my non-Elizabethan hotel and dreamt of the world as a stage and all of the people merely players.
#england #history #literature #London #shakespeare #Theatre #Travel #williamShakespeare -
The Debate Over This Writing Thing
Several weeks ago there was quite a debate bouncing around about what writing is or might or might not become in this era of Artificial Intelligence. Quite a lot was written about the subject. I watched and read most of it beginning with John Gruber’s piece on Daring Fireball about Anthropic’s use of watermarks for AI-generated writing. Gruber called it a “perversion of writing.” Many others weighed in with words, words, words. And more words.
I particularly liked Dan Moren’s piece in response, primarily because it lines up with what I’ve learned and currently think about AI-writing. Here’s a quote:
That might be the case if AIs were writing. But they are not; they are simply generating text. Those two things are not the same. As per the premise of John’s piece, writing is about carefully picking the words and crafting the meaning of what you’re saying, things that AI do not—and patently cannot—do.
In case you’re wondering, I’m in the camp that says that AI isn’t capable of “writing.” If you know anything about the tech at all, you should be too. AI might be able to predict the next word, but that’s a mathematical equation not writing. If you insist otherwise, I hope the kool-aid tasted good on the way down.
Back in the days of my youth, one of the many rituals of sorting wheat from the chaff in childhood education was teaching us to to write mechanically, moving slowly but steadily up to writing things with meaning (remember book reports?) and once we moved into college there was Freshman Comp. Do they still teach Freshman Comp these days?
It wasn’t until later in college when I actually learned what I came to believe writing was all about. Dr. Ralph Cohen, an English professor who taught courses on Shakespeare, film as a narrative art, and surveys of literature, was one of the few professors who kicked my butt. He challenged me in ways others didn’t and I ended up taking most of the classes he offered.
In teaching Shakespeare, he laid out what the physical act and monetary cost of writing during the Bard’s time actually required. There was a real cost to committing an idea to the paper he made out of rags and old linens. Simply put, it meant the work of writing happened in the man’s brain and soul either before or as he was scribbling away with his quill and ink.
I was never good at writing with pen/pencil and paper. Nevertheless, I fought my mother tooth and nail when she insisted I take a typing class in high school. She won. I’m glad she did. Writing for me did become easier on a keyboard and a keyboard has been the primary medium of committing my thoughts to paper or digital bits ever since.
In thinking about this debate I pulled a dust covered dictionary off of one of my book shelves to look up the definition of writing. It’s The American College Dictionary published by Random House copyrighted in 1961. Here’s what that says below:
I also looked up the word “write.”
And the word “writer.”
Google Gemini’s AI summary provides the following:
The highlights in that result are Google’s. Certainly there are many other dictionaries with differing and distinct definitions spelled out. I’d wager that most, like those above, focus on the mechanical. Perhaps that would steer the debate more towards those who think AI can “write.” Frankly, I find that devaluing when I think of the act, or dare I say the art of writing.
Having spent a life in the theatre, written a few plays and musicals along the way, and heard the chimes at midnight with many a playwright and composer searching for the right words or notes, I believe there’s an element that’s missing when most engage in this debate. I’d call it the soul.
Otherwise the infinite monkey theorem comes into play and renders all writing reductive to a fault. Or if The Simpsons is more your cup of tea, 1000 monkeys with a 1000 typewriters.
There are some that are trying to define parameters of this debate as being about process. But that’s any creator’s thing. Some want to frame the discussion about how the march of technological progress always presents change. So, why resist it?
If writing, or any other art form was supposed to be easy or easier that’s when the devaluing kicks in. The playing fields of creation have never be level. Why start doing so now?
That last link above is from a piece from Tim O’Reilly on the subject. I’m not sure if he wrote it or he coached an AI to do so. You’ll understand that if you do read the piece. Regardless, it’s worth your time if you have interest in the debate. Here’s a quote:
We’re in the early days, still shooting filmed stage plays. The masters of this instrument will uncover themselves. When they do, what they produce isn’t going to be slop. In the meantime, I don’t think we should be shooting down people who are trying to push AI’s limits in writing or art. Writers should be trying to figure out the medium, just as software developers are doing in coding.
We may indeed be in the early days. I translate that in our current moment to folks paying for and investing a lot of money to use beta software that promises much, doesn’t always work, and more often than not yields different responses to the same prompt. But that’s the slippery slope we’ve fallen down with most tech these days.
Early filmmakers may have indeed been constantly adapting and evolving the technology they used and the way they used it. Although to pick a nit, the early filmmakers analogy doesn’t really hold up, as most early films were shot outdoors until lighting technology caught up, allowing for better filming of interiors. That’s when filming stage plays really began. (Thanks, Dr. Cohen.)
The distinction is that those early filmmakers were pushing their technology envelopes to better tell a story in a new medium of motion pictures. Not mimic one that had existed since man first painted tales of the hunt on cave walls. That assumes you accept the pieces of the definitions of writing that describe it as a method of using symbols, characters or words on some surface in order to communicate an idea.
But back to my thoughts on writing in opposition to those I disagree with. It’s safe to say that my bet is anything AI writes, no matter how well prompted, won’t endure for 400 or so years the way Shakespeare has. Or in later generations, Chekov, Ibsen, Miller, Mamet or Shepard. Not even the summaries. Of course, who knows what will endure 400 years into this wacky future we seem hell bent on creating? Or is that erasing?
I’ll end this with a quote from Mr. Shakespeare:
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity.Two Gentlemen From Verona, Act 3, Scene 2
A 1000 monkeys indeed.
(Images from KinoMasterskaya on Shutterstock. Dictionary photos by the author.)
Thanks for reading. You can subscribe to this blog if you care to. You can also find more of my writings on a variety of topics on Medium at this link, including in the publications Ellemeno and Rome. I can also be found on social media under my name as above. This site does not use affilate links.
#ai #ArtificialIntelligence #DanMoren #JohnGruber #technology #TimOReilly #Watermarking #williamShakespeare #Writing -
The Debate Over This Writing Thing
Several weeks ago there was quite a debate bouncing around about what writing is or might or might not become in this era of Artificial Intelligence. Quite a lot was written about the subject. I watched and read most of it beginning with John Gruber’s piece on Daring Fireball about Anthropic’s use of watermarks for AI-generated writing. Gruber called it a “perversion of writing.” Many others weighed in with words, words, words. And more words.
I particularly liked Dan Moren’s piece in response, primarily because it lines up with what I’ve learned and currently think about AI-writing. Here’s a quote:
That might be the case if AIs were writing. But they are not; they are simply generating text. Those two things are not the same. As per the premise of John’s piece, writing is about carefully picking the words and crafting the meaning of what you’re saying, things that AI do not—and patently cannot—do.
In case you’re wondering, I’m in the camp that says that AI isn’t capable of “writing.” If you know anything about the tech at all, you should be too. AI might be able to predict the next word, but that’s a mathematical equation not writing. If you insist otherwise, I hope the kool-aid tasted good on the way down.
Back in the days of my youth, one of the many rituals of sorting wheat from the chaff in childhood education was teaching us to to write mechanically, moving slowly but steadily up to writing things with meaning (remember book reports?) and once we moved into college there was Freshman Comp. Do they still teach Freshman Comp these days?
It wasn’t until later in college when I actually learned what I came to believe writing was all about. Dr. Ralph Cohen, an English professor who taught courses on Shakespeare, film as a narrative art, and surveys of literature, was one of the few professors who kicked my butt. He challenged me in ways others didn’t and I ended up taking most of the classes he offered.
In teaching Shakespeare, he laid out what the physical act and monetary cost of writing during the Bard’s time actually required. There was a real cost to committing an idea to the paper he made out of rags and old linens. Simply put, it meant the work of writing happened in the man’s brain and soul either before or as he was scribbling away with his quill and ink.
I was never good at writing with pen/pencil and paper. Nevertheless, I fought my mother tooth and nail when she insisted I take a typing class in high school. She won. I’m glad she did. Writing for me did become easier on a keyboard and a keyboard has been the primary medium of committing my thoughts to paper or digital bits ever since.
In thinking about this debate I pulled a dust covered dictionary off of one of my book shelves to look up the definition of writing. It’s The American College Dictionary published by Random House copyrighted in 1961. Here’s what that says below:
I also looked up the word “write.”
And the word “writer.”
Google Gemini’s AI summary provides the following:
The highlights in that result are Google’s. Certainly there are many other dictionaries with differing and distinct definitions spelled out. I’d wager that most, like those above, focus on the mechanical. Perhaps that would steer the debate more towards those who think AI can “write.” Frankly, I find that devaluing when I think of the act, or dare I say the art of writing.
Having spent a life in the theatre, written a few plays and musicals along the way, and heard the chimes at midnight with many a playwright and composer searching for the right words or notes, I believe there’s an element that’s missing when most engage in this debate. I’d call it the soul.
Otherwise the infinite monkey theorem comes into play and renders all writing reductive to a fault. Or if The Simpsons is more your cup of tea, 1000 monkeys with a 1000 typewriters.
There are some that are trying to define parameters of this debate as being about process. But that’s any creator’s thing. Some want to frame the discussion about how the march of technological progress always presents change. So, why resist it?
If writing, or any other art form was supposed to be easy or easier that’s when the devaluing kicks in. The playing fields of creation have never be level. Why start doing so now?
That last link above is from a piece from Tim O’Reilly on the subject. I’m not sure if he wrote it or he coached an AI to do so. You’ll understand that if you do read the piece. Regardless, it’s worth your time if you have interest in the debate. Here’s a quote:
We’re in the early days, still shooting filmed stage plays. The masters of this instrument will uncover themselves. When they do, what they produce isn’t going to be slop. In the meantime, I don’t think we should be shooting down people who are trying to push AI’s limits in writing or art. Writers should be trying to figure out the medium, just as software developers are doing in coding.
We may indeed be in the early days. I translate that in our current moment to folks paying for and investing a lot of money to use beta software that promises much, doesn’t always work, and more often than not yields different responses to the same prompt. But that’s the slippery slope we’ve fallen down with most tech these days.
Early filmmakers may have indeed been constantly adapting and evolving the technology they used and the way they used it. Although to pick a nit, the early filmmakers analogy doesn’t really hold up, as most early films were shot outdoors until lighting technology caught up, allowing for better filming of interiors. That’s when filming stage plays really began. (Thanks, Dr. Cohen.)
The distinction is that those early filmmakers were pushing their technology envelopes to better tell a story in a new medium of motion pictures. Not mimic one that had existed since man first painted tales of the hunt on cave walls. That assumes you accept the pieces of the definitions of writing that describe it as a method of using symbols, characters or words on some surface in order to communicate an idea.
But back to my thoughts on writing in opposition to those I disagree with. It’s safe to say that my bet is anything AI writes, no matter how well prompted, won’t endure for 400 or so years the way Shakespeare has. Or in later generations, Chekov, Ibsen, Miller, Mamet or Shepard. Not even the summaries. Of course, who knows what will endure 400 years into this wacky future we seem hell bent on creating? Or is that erasing?
I’ll end this with a quote from Mr. Shakespeare:
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity.Two Gentlemen From Verona, Act 3, Scene 2
A 1000 monkeys indeed.
(Images from KinoMasterskaya on Shutterstock. Dictionary photos by the author.)
Thanks for reading. You can subscribe to this blog if you care to. You can also find more of my writings on a variety of topics on Medium at this link, including in the publications Ellemeno and Rome. I can also be found on social media under my name as above. This site does not use affilate links.
#ai #ArtificialIntelligence #DanMoren #JohnGruber #technology #TimOReilly #Watermarking #williamShakespeare #Writing -
The Debate Over This Writing Thing
Several weeks ago there was quite a debate bouncing around about what writing is or might or might not become in this era of Artificial Intelligence. Quite a lot was written about the subject. I watched and read most of it beginning with John Gruber’s piece on Daring Fireball about Anthropic’s use of watermarks for AI-generated writing. Gruber called it a “perversion of writing.” Many others weighed in with words, words, words. And more words.
I particularly liked Dan Moren’s piece in response, primarily because it lines up with what I’ve learned and currently think about AI-writing. Here’s a quote:
That might be the case if AIs were writing. But they are not; they are simply generating text. Those two things are not the same. As per the premise of John’s piece, writing is about carefully picking the words and crafting the meaning of what you’re saying, things that AI do not—and patently cannot—do.
In case you’re wondering, I’m in the camp that says that AI isn’t capable of “writing.” If you know anything about the tech at all, you should be too. AI might be able to predict the next word, but that’s a mathematical equation not writing. If you insist otherwise, I hope the kool-aid tasted good on the way down.
Back in the days of my youth, one of the many rituals of sorting wheat from the chaff in childhood education was teaching us to to write mechanically, moving slowly but steadily up to writing things with meaning (remember book reports?) and once we moved into college there was Freshman Comp. Do they still teach Freshman Comp these days?
It wasn’t until later in college when I actually learned what I came to believe writing was all about. Dr. Ralph Cohen, an English professor who taught courses on Shakespeare, film as a narrative art, and surveys of literature, was one of the few professors who kicked my butt. He challenged me in ways others didn’t and I ended up taking most of the classes he offered.
In teaching Shakespeare, he laid out what the physical act and monetary cost of writing during the Bard’s time actually required. There was a real cost to committing an idea to the paper he made out of rags and old linens. Simply put, it meant the work of writing happened in the man’s brain and soul either before or as he was scribbling away with his quill and ink.
I was never good at writing with pen/pencil and paper. Nevertheless, I fought my mother tooth and nail when she insisted I take a typing class in high school. She won. I’m glad she did. Writing for me did become easier on a keyboard and a keyboard has been the primary medium of committing my thoughts to paper or digital bits ever since.
In thinking about this debate I pulled a dust covered dictionary off of one of my book shelves to look up the definition of writing. It’s The American College Dictionary published by Random House copyrighted in 1961. Here’s what that says below:
I also looked up the word “write.”
And the word “writer.”
Google Gemini’s AI summary provides the following:
The highlights in that result are Google’s. Certainly there are many other dictionaries with differing and distinct definitions spelled out. I’d wager that most, like those above, focus on the mechanical. Perhaps that would steer the debate more towards those who think AI can “write.” Frankly, I find that devaluing when I think of the act, or dare I say the art of writing.
Having spent a life in the theatre, written a few plays and musicals along the way, and heard the chimes at midnight with many a playwright and composer searching for the right words or notes, I believe there’s an element that’s missing when most engage in this debate. I’d call it the soul.
Otherwise the infinite monkey theorem comes into play and renders all writing reductive to a fault. Or if The Simpsons is more your cup of tea, 1000 monkeys with a 1000 typewriters.
There are some that are trying to define parameters of this debate as being about process. But that’s any creator’s thing. Some want to frame the discussion about how the march of technological progress always presents change. So, why resist it?
If writing, or any other art form was supposed to be easy or easier that’s when the devaluing kicks in. The playing fields of creation have never be level. Why start doing so now?
That last link above is from a piece from Tim O’Reilly on the subject. I’m not sure if he wrote it or he coached an AI to do so. You’ll understand that if you do read the piece. Regardless, it’s worth your time if you have interest in the debate. Here’s a quote:
We’re in the early days, still shooting filmed stage plays. The masters of this instrument will uncover themselves. When they do, what they produce isn’t going to be slop. In the meantime, I don’t think we should be shooting down people who are trying to push AI’s limits in writing or art. Writers should be trying to figure out the medium, just as software developers are doing in coding.
We may indeed be in the early days. I translate that in our current moment to folks paying for and investing a lot of money to use beta software that promises much, doesn’t always work, and more often than not yields different responses to the same prompt. But that’s the slippery slope we’ve fallen down with most tech these days.
Early filmmakers may have indeed been constantly adapting and evolving the technology they used and the way they used it. Although to pick a nit, the early filmmakers analogy doesn’t really hold up, as most early films were shot outdoors until lighting technology caught up, allowing for better filming of interiors. That’s when filming stage plays really began. (Thanks, Dr. Cohen.)
The distinction is that those early filmmakers were pushing their technology envelopes to better tell a story in a new medium of motion pictures. Not mimic one that had existed since man first painted tales of the hunt on cave walls. That assumes you accept the pieces of the definitions of writing that describe it as a method of using symbols, characters or words on some surface in order to communicate an idea.
But back to my thoughts on writing in opposition to those I disagree with. It’s safe to say that my bet is anything AI writes, no matter how well prompted, won’t endure for 400 or so years the way Shakespeare has. Or in later generations, Chekov, Ibsen, Miller, Mamet or Shepard. Not even the summaries. Of course, who knows what will endure 400 years into this wacky future we seem hell bent on creating? Or is that erasing?
I’ll end this with a quote from Mr. Shakespeare:
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity.Two Gentlemen From Verona, Act 3, Scene 2
A 1000 monkeys indeed.
(Images from KinoMasterskaya on Shutterstock. Dictionary photos by the author.)
Thanks for reading. You can subscribe to this blog if you care to. You can also find more of my writings on a variety of topics on Medium at this link, including in the publications Ellemeno and Rome. I can also be found on social media under my name as above. This site does not use affilate links.
#ai #ArtificialIntelligence #DanMoren #JohnGruber #technology #TimOReilly #Watermarking #williamShakespeare #Writing -
The Debate Over This Writing Thing
Several weeks ago there was quite a debate bouncing around about what writing is or might or might not become in this era of Artificial Intelligence. Quite a lot was written about the subject. I watched and read most of it beginning with John Gruber’s piece on Daring Fireball about Anthropic’s use of watermarks for AI-generated writing. Gruber called it a “perversion of writing.” Many others weighed in with words, words, words. And more words.
I particularly liked Dan Moren’s piece in response, primarily because it lines up with what I’ve learned and currently think about AI-writing. Here’s a quote:
That might be the case if AIs were writing. But they are not; they are simply generating text. Those two things are not the same. As per the premise of John’s piece, writing is about carefully picking the words and crafting the meaning of what you’re saying, things that AI do not—and patently cannot—do.
In case you’re wondering, I’m in the camp that says that AI isn’t capable of “writing.” If you know anything about the tech at all, you should be too. AI might be able to predict the next word, but that’s a mathematical equation not writing. If you insist otherwise, I hope the kool-aid tasted good on the way down.
Back in the days of my youth, one of the many rituals of sorting wheat from the chaff in childhood education was teaching us to to write mechanically, moving slowly but steadily up to writing things with meaning (remember book reports?) and once we moved into college there was Freshman Comp. Do they still teach Freshman Comp these days?
It wasn’t until later in college when I actually learned what I came to believe writing was all about. Dr. Ralph Cohen, an English professor who taught courses on Shakespeare, film as a narrative art, and surveys of literature, was one of the few professors who kicked my butt. He challenged me in ways others didn’t and I ended up taking most of the classes he offered.
In teaching Shakespeare, he laid out what the physical act and monetary cost of writing during the Bard’s time actually required. There was a real cost to committing an idea to the paper he made out of rags and old linens. Simply put, it meant the work of writing happened in the man’s brain and soul either before or as he was scribbling away with his quill and ink.
I was never good at writing with pen/pencil and paper. Nevertheless, I fought my mother tooth and nail when she insisted I take a typing class in high school. She won. I’m glad she did. Writing for me did become easier on a keyboard and a keyboard has been the primary medium of committing my thoughts to paper or digital bits ever since.
In thinking about this debate I pulled a dust covered dictionary off of one of my book shelves to look up the definition of writing. It’s The American College Dictionary published by Random House copyrighted in 1961. Here’s what that says below:
I also looked up the word “write.”
And the word “writer.”
Google Gemini’s AI summary provides the following:
The highlights in that result are Google’s. Certainly there are many other dictionaries with differing and distinct definitions spelled out. I’d wager that most, like those above, focus on the mechanical. Perhaps that would steer the debate more towards those who think AI can “write.” Frankly, I find that devaluing when I think of the act, or dare I say the art of writing.
Having spent a life in the theatre, written a few plays and musicals along the way, and heard the chimes at midnight with many a playwright and composer searching for the right words or notes, I believe there’s an element that’s missing when most engage in this debate. I’d call it the soul.
Otherwise the infinite monkey theorem comes into play and renders all writing reductive to a fault. Or if The Simpsons is more your cup of tea, 1000 monkeys with a 1000 typewriters.
There are some that are trying to define parameters of this debate as being about process. But that’s any creator’s thing. Some want to frame the discussion about how the march of technological progress always presents change. So, why resist it?
If writing, or any other art form was supposed to be easy or easier that’s when the devaluing kicks in. The playing fields of creation have never be level. Why start doing so now?
That last link above is from a piece from Tim O’Reilly on the subject. I’m not sure if he wrote it or he coached an AI to do so. You’ll understand that if you do read the piece. Regardless, it’s worth your time if you have interest in the debate. Here’s a quote:
We’re in the early days, still shooting filmed stage plays. The masters of this instrument will uncover themselves. When they do, what they produce isn’t going to be slop. In the meantime, I don’t think we should be shooting down people who are trying to push AI’s limits in writing or art. Writers should be trying to figure out the medium, just as software developers are doing in coding.
We may indeed be in the early days. I translate that in our current moment to folks paying for and investing a lot of money to use beta software that promises much, doesn’t always work, and more often than not yields different responses to the same prompt. But that’s the slippery slope we’ve fallen down with most tech these days.
Early filmmakers may have indeed been constantly adapting and evolving the technology they used and the way they used it. Although to pick a nit, the early filmmakers analogy doesn’t really hold up, as most early films were shot outdoors until lighting technology caught up, allowing for better filming of interiors. That’s when filming stage plays really began. (Thanks, Dr. Cohen.)
The distinction is that those early filmmakers were pushing their technology envelopes to better tell a story in a new medium of motion pictures. Not mimic one that had existed since man first painted tales of the hunt on cave walls. That assumes you accept the pieces of the definitions of writing that describe it as a method of using symbols, characters or words on some surface in order to communicate an idea.
But back to my thoughts on writing in opposition to those I disagree with. It’s safe to say that my bet is anything AI writes, no matter how well prompted, won’t endure for 400 or so years the way Shakespeare has. Or in later generations, Chekov, Ibsen, Miller, Mamet or Shepard. Not even the summaries. Of course, who knows what will endure 400 years into this wacky future we seem hell bent on creating? Or is that erasing?
I’ll end this with a quote from Mr. Shakespeare:
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity.Two Gentlemen From Verona, Act 3, Scene 2
A 1000 monkeys indeed.
(Images from KinoMasterskaya on Shutterstock. Dictionary photos by the author.)
Thanks for reading. You can subscribe to this blog if you care to. You can also find more of my writings on a variety of topics on Medium at this link, including in the publications Ellemeno and Rome. I can also be found on social media under my name as above. This site does not use affilate links.
#ai #ArtificialIntelligence #DanMoren #JohnGruber #technology #TimOReilly #Watermarking #williamShakespeare #Writing -
The Debate Over This Writing Thing
Several weeks ago there was quite a debate bouncing around about what writing is or might or might not become in this era of Artificial Intelligence. Quite a lot was written about the subject. I watched and read most of it beginning with John Gruber’s piece on Daring Fireball about Anthropic’s use of watermarks for AI-generated writing. Gruber called it a “perversion of writing.” Many others weighed in with words, words, words. And more words.
I particularly liked Dan Moren’s piece in response, primarily because it lines up with what I’ve learned and currently think about AI-writing. Here’s a quote:
That might be the case if AIs were writing. But they are not; they are simply generating text. Those two things are not the same. As per the premise of John’s piece, writing is about carefully picking the words and crafting the meaning of what you’re saying, things that AI do not—and patently cannot—do.
In case you’re wondering, I’m in the camp that says that AI isn’t capable of “writing.” If you know anything about the tech at all, you should be too. AI might be able to predict the next word, but that’s a mathematical equation not writing. If you insist otherwise, I hope the kool-aid tasted good on the way down.
Back in the days of my youth, one of the many rituals of sorting wheat from the chaff in childhood education was teaching us to to write mechanically, moving slowly but steadily up to writing things with meaning (remember book reports?) and once we moved into college there was Freshman Comp. Do they still teach Freshman Comp these days?
It wasn’t until later in college when I actually learned what I came to believe writing was all about. Dr. Ralph Cohen, an English professor who taught courses on Shakespeare, film as a narrative art, and surveys of literature, was one of the few professors who kicked my butt. He challenged me in ways others didn’t and I ended up taking most of the classes he offered.
In teaching Shakespeare, he laid out what the physical act and monetary cost of writing during the Bard’s time actually required. There was a real cost to committing an idea to the paper he made out of rags and old linens. Simply put, it meant the work of writing happened in the man’s brain and soul either before or as he was scribbling away with his quill and ink.
I was never good at writing with pen/pencil and paper. Nevertheless, I fought my mother tooth and nail when she insisted I take a typing class in high school. She won. I’m glad she did. Writing for me did become easier on a keyboard and a keyboard has been the primary medium of committing my thoughts to paper or digital bits ever since.
In thinking about this debate I pulled a dust covered dictionary off of one of my book shelves to look up the definition of writing. It’s The American College Dictionary published by Random House copyrighted in 1961. Here’s what that says below:
I also looked up the word “write.”
And the word “writer.”
Google Gemini’s AI summary provides the following:
The highlights in that result are Google’s. Certainly there are many other dictionaries with differing and distinct definitions spelled out. I’d wager that most, like those above, focus on the mechanical. Perhaps that would steer the debate more towards those who think AI can “write.” Frankly, I find that devaluing when I think of the act, or dare I say the art of writing.
Having spent a life in the theatre, written a few plays and musicals along the way, and heard the chimes at midnight with many a playwright and composer searching for the right words or notes, I believe there’s an element that’s missing when most engage in this debate. I’d call it the soul.
Otherwise the infinite monkey theorem comes into play and renders all writing reductive to a fault. Or if The Simpsons is more your cup of tea, 1000 monkeys with a 1000 typewriters.
There are some that are trying to define parameters of this debate as being about process. But that’s any creator’s thing. Some want to frame the discussion about how the march of technological progress always presents change. So, why resist it?
If writing, or any other art form was supposed to be easy or easier that’s when the devaluing kicks in. The playing fields of creation have never be level. Why start doing so now?
That last link above is from a piece from Tim O’Reilly on the subject. I’m not sure if he wrote it or he coached an AI to do so. You’ll understand that if you do read the piece. Regardless, it’s worth your time if you have interest in the debate. Here’s a quote:
We’re in the early days, still shooting filmed stage plays. The masters of this instrument will uncover themselves. When they do, what they produce isn’t going to be slop. In the meantime, I don’t think we should be shooting down people who are trying to push AI’s limits in writing or art. Writers should be trying to figure out the medium, just as software developers are doing in coding.
We may indeed be in the early days. I translate that in our current moment to folks paying for and investing a lot of money to use beta software that promises much, doesn’t always work, and more often than not yields different responses to the same prompt. But that’s the slippery slope we’ve fallen down with most tech these days.
Early filmmakers may have indeed been constantly adapting and evolving the technology they used and the way they used it. Although to pick a nit, the early filmmakers analogy doesn’t really hold up, as most early films were shot outdoors until lighting technology caught up, allowing for better filming of interiors. That’s when filming stage plays really began. (Thanks, Dr. Cohen.)
The distinction is that those early filmmakers were pushing their technology envelopes to better tell a story in a new medium of motion pictures. Not mimic one that had existed since man first painted tales of the hunt on cave walls. That assumes you accept the pieces of the definitions of writing that describe it as a method of using symbols, characters or words on some surface in order to communicate an idea.
But back to my thoughts on writing in opposition to those I disagree with. It’s safe to say that my bet is anything AI writes, no matter how well prompted, won’t endure for 400 or so years the way Shakespeare has. Or in later generations, Chekov, Ibsen, Miller, Mamet or Shepard. Not even the summaries. Of course, who knows what will endure 400 years into this wacky future we seem hell bent on creating? Or is that erasing?
I’ll end this with a quote from Mr. Shakespeare:
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
That may discover such integrity.Two Gentlemen From Verona, Act 3, Scene 2
A 1000 monkeys indeed.
(Images from KinoMasterskaya on Shutterstock. Dictionary photos by the author.)
Thanks for reading. You can subscribe to this blog if you care to. You can also find more of my writings on a variety of topics on Medium at this link, including in the publications Ellemeno and Rome. I can also be found on social media under my name as above. This site does not use affilate links.
#ai #ArtificialIntelligence #DanMoren #JohnGruber #technology #TimOReilly #Watermarking #williamShakespeare #Writing -
FOOL: And thus the whirligig of time brings in
his revenges.William Shakespeare (1564–1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 5, sc. 1, l. 399ff (5.1.399-400) (1601)More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #karma #outcomes #passageoftime #revenge #time #vengeance
-
SIR THOMAS MORE: Say now the king
(As he is clement, if th’ offender mourn)
Should so much come to short of your great trespass
As but to banish you, whether would you go?
What country, by the nature of your error,
Should give you harbor? Go you to France or Flanders,
To any German province, to Spain or Portugal,
Nay, any where that not adheres to England, —
Why, you must needs be strangers. Would you be pleased
To find a nation of such barbarous temper,
That, breaking out in hideous violence,
Would not afford you an abode on earth,
Whet their detested knives against your throats,
Spurn you like dogs, and like as if that God
Owed not nor made not you, nor that the claimants
Were not all appropriate to your comforts,
But chartered unto them, what would you think
To be thus used? This is the strangers’ case;
And this your mountanish inhumanity.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Sir Thomas More, Act 2, sc. 4, l. 105ff (c. 1592)More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #sirthomasmore #cruelty #expulsion #foreigner #immigrant #inhumanity #other #outsider #immigration
-
Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise
Hath chid down all the majesty of England;
Imagine that you see the wretched strangers,
Their babies at their backs and their poor luggage,
Plodding tooth ports and costs for transportation,
And that you sit as kings in your desires,
Authority quite silent by your brawl,
And you in ruff of your opinions clothed;
What had you got? I’ll tell you. You had taught
How insolence and strong hand should prevail,
How order should be quelled; and by this pattern
Not one of you should live an aged man,
For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought,
With self same hand, self reasons, and self right,
Would shark on you, and men like ravenous fishes
Would feed on one another.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Sir Thomas More, Act 2, sc. 4, l. 55ff (c. 1592)More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #anarchy #breakingthelaw #conflict #foreigners #immigration #insecurity #lawbreaking #lawlessness #mob #mobrule #mobviolence #riot #socialcontract #violence #xenophobia
-
Hamnet review – Paul Mescal and Jessie Buckley beguile and captivate in audacious Shakespearean tragedy https://www.theguardian.com/film/2026/jan/06/hamnet-review-paul-mescal-jessie-buckley-shakespeare-hamlet #Film #Hamnet #FilmAdaptations #MaggieOfarrell #ChloZhao #PaulMescal #JessieBuckley #Hamlet #WilliamShakespeare #EmilyWatson #Books #Culture #Stage
-
KING RICHARD: For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 3, sc. 2, l. 165ff (3.2.165-175) (1595)More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #richardii #autocrat #death #dust #ego #hubris #invulnerability #king #mortality #power #pride #royalty
-
KING RICHARD: For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings —
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed,
All murdered.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 3, sc. 2, l. 160ff (3.2.160-165) (1595)More info about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #richardii #autocrat #death #fate #kings #mortality #power #regicide #storytelling
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Stephen Frears – „The Lost King“ (2022)
Hier geht es um Wahrheit, Obsession und die Wiedergewinnung weiblicher Deutungshoheit – und letztlich ist es auch ein Lehrstück über das, was verloren geht, wenn sich ein erfahrener Regisseur zu sehr auf das Kunsthandwerk verlässt und zu wenig auf das politische Jetzt. Dabei hätte dieser Film das Potenzial gehabt, ein feministisches Manifest zu sein.
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An Island of Strangers
In the light of Keir Starmer’s deplorable Faragist rhetoric about Britain becoming an ‘Island of Strangers’, and the obscene deportations and detentions without legal process of immigrants in the United States, I thought I’d repost this speech from the play Sir Thomas More which is widely attributed to William Shakespeare. It’s from Act 2 Scene 4, at which point in the drama Thomas More (who was then London’s Deputy Sheriff) is called upon to put down an anti-immigration riot in the Parish of St Martin Le Grand, that took place on 1st May 1517. In reality More’s intevention wasn’t effective, and it took the arrival of 5000 troops to disperse the mob.
As well as being powerful for many other reasons, this speech especially fascinating because a hand-written manuscript (thought to be by Shakespeare himself) survives and is kept in the British Library.
The backdrop to this story is that, between 1330 and 1550 about 64,000 immigrants from all across Europe came to England in search of better lives. Locals blamed them for taking their jobs and threatening their culture. Tensions reached breaking point in 1517 and a mob armed with stones, bricks, bats, boots and boiling water attacked the immigrants and looted their homes. Five hundred years on, and we still haven’t learned.
Here is the text of the opening part of the speech ‘This is the strangers case’.
Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise
Hath chid down all the majesty of England;
Imagine that you see the wretched strangers,
Their babies at their backs and their poor luggage,
Plodding to the ports and coasts for transportation,
And that you sit as kings in your desires,
Authority quite silent by your brawl,
And you in ruff of your opinions clothed;
What had you got? I’ll tell you: you had taught
How insolence and strong hand should prevail,
How order should be quelled; and by this pattern
Not one of you should live an aged man,
For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought,
With self same hand, self reasons, and self right,
Would shark on you, and men like ravenous fishes
Would feed on one another….
Say now the king
Should so much come too short of your great trespass
As but to banish you, whither would you go?
What country, by the nature of your error,
Should give you harbour? go you to France or Flanders,
To any German province, to Spain or Portugal,
Nay, any where that not adheres to England,
Why, you must needs be strangers: would you be pleased
To find a nation of such barbarous temper,
That, breaking out in hideous violence,
Would not afford you an abode on earth,
Whet their detested knives against your throats,
Spurn you like dogs, and like as if that God
Owed not nor made not you, nor that the claimants
Were not all appropriate to your comforts,
But chartered unto them, what would you think
To be thus used? this is the strangers case;
And this your mountainish inhumanity.Better an Island of Strangers than an Island of Starmers, I’d say…
#IslandOfStrangers #KeirStarmer #SirThomasMore #WilliamShakespeare
