#williamshakespeare — Public Fediverse posts

King Lear review – Ian McDiarmid is a titanic, heartbreaking wonder
By Mark Lawson

Crucible 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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A quotation from Shakespeare

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

A quotation from Shakespeare

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

A quotation from Shakespeare

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

A quotation from Shakespeare

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

A quotation from Shakespeare

MALVOLIO:                                                             In my
   stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness.
   Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and
   some have greatness thrust upon ’em.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 2, Sc. 5, l. 147ff (2.5.147–150) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #achievement #ambition #circumstance #destiny #fate #greatness #heritage #meme #station

A quotation from Shakespeare

FOOL: Come away, come away, death,
      And in sad cypress let me be laid.
   Fly away, fly away, breath,
      I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 2, sc. 4, l. 58ff (2.4.58-61) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #feste #burial #death #dying #heartbreak #passion #pining #rejection

A quotation from Shakespeare

ORSINO: If music be the food of love, play on.
   Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
   The appetite may sicken and so die.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 1, sc. 1, l. 1ff (1.1.1-3) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #orsino #appetite #excess #gorging #love #music #passion

A quotation from Shakespeare

ORSINO: These most brisk and giddy-pacèd times.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 2, sc. 4, l. 7 (2.4.7) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #twelfthnight #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #busyness #change #instability #moderntimes #pace #present #speed #times

A quotation from Shakespeare

VIOLA: O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;
   It is too hard a knot for me t’ untie.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 2, sc. 2, l. 40ff (2.2.40-41) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #complexity #conundrum #passageoftime #problem #puzzle #tangle #time #untangle

A quotation from Shakespeare

OLIVIA: What’s a drunken man like, Fool?
FOOL: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One
   draught above heat makes him a fool, the second
   mads him, and a third drowns him.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 1, sc. 5, l. 128ff (1.5.128-131) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #shakespeare #twelfthnight #alcohol #drinking #drunkenness #intoxication

A quotation from Shakespeare

FOOL: Good madonna, why mourn’st thou?
OLIVIA: Good Fool, for my brother’s death.
FOOL: I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA: I know his soul is in heaven, Fool.
FOOL: The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 1, sc. 5, l. 64ff (1.5 64-70) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #afterlife #death #grief #heaven #hell #mourning #paradise #fool #folly

A quotation from Shakespeare

TOBY: I am sure care’s an enemy to life.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Twelfth Night, Act 1, sc. 3, l. 2ff (1.3.2-3) (1601)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #twelfthnight #anxiety #care #grief #living #mourning #sadness #worry

William Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Judi Dench – Helen Mirren – Diana Rigg – Ian Holm 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9Ry0lUghcw

Restored Version by Shakespeare Network. – This was the first live-action version of this play to be filmed in colour.

"All that glitters is not gold" is an #aphorism stating that not everything that looks precious or true turns out to be so. While early expressions of the idea are known from at least the 12th–13th century, the current saying is derived from a 16th-century line by #WilliamShakespeare, "All that #glisters is not gold" and, firstly, from the proverbs written by #JohnFlorio on his #SecondFruits (1591).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_Ff7R-h5g4

Our Player of the Patchwork Mathias Blackett is playing Sir Toby Belch in Arcadia Theater's production of William Shakespeare's (very commedia dell'arte inspired) "Twelfth Night" this week!

See more: https://www.arcadia-alpharetta.org/12th-night

#Theater #Shakespeare #WilliamShakespeare #TwelfthNight

A quotation from Shakespeare

RICHARD: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
   To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
   I am determinèd to prove a villain
   And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard III, Act 1, sc. 1, l. 28ff (1.1.28-31) (1592)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #richardiii #badguy #badperson #selfaffirmation #selfawareness #selfdetermination #selfdirection #selfevaluation #selfperception #selfunderstanding #villain

To hiss or not to hiss.

#KätToon #Shakespeare #Snake #Schlange #WilliamShakespeare

A quotation from Shakespeare

Go thou and fill another room in hell.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 5, sc. 1, l. 110 (5.1.110) (1595)

More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #assassin #condemnation #damnation #killer #killing #murderer

A quotation from Shakespeare

KING RICHARD: You may my glories and my state depose
   But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Richard II, Act 4, sc. 1, l. 201ff (4.1.201-202) (1595)

More info about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…

#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #richardii #autonomy #emotion #glory #grief #innerself #mourning #power #prestige #remorse

To hiss or not to hiss.
🐍🐍🐍
#KätToon #BadPuns #Snake #Schlange #schlechteWortwitze #Shakespeare #WilliamShakespeare

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.

[…]

Ulrich Tukur – Tatort: „Im Schmerz geboren“ (2014)

So geschehen im Jahr 2014: William Shakespeare, Sergio Leone und Quentin Tarrantino gehen in Wiesbaden in eine Bar… und nur Ulrich Tukur kommt wieder heraus, in kugelsicherer Schutzweste, mit einer Maschinenpistole im Anschlag. Wir sehen 54 tote Menschen, die ein großes Zeugnis gegen Rache, für Wahrheit und Vergebung ablegen. (ARD)

Ulrich Tukur – Tatort: Im Schmerz geboren (2014)

So geschehen im Jahr 2014: William Shakespeare, Sergio Leone und Quentin Tarrantino gehen in Wiesbaden in eine Bar… und Ulrich Tukur kommt wieder heraus, in kugelsicherer Schutzweste, mit einer Maschinenpistole im Anschlag. Wir sehen 54 tote Menschen und ein großes Zeugnis gegen die Rache, für die Wahrheit und Vergebung.

Happy Birthday to my fellow Stratfordian, The Bard, born #OTD 1564.
My 1000-piece "The Plays of #Shakespeare" #jigsawpuzzle is here: https://janetomlinson.com/artworks/shakespeare-jigsaw-puzzle-1000-pieces/

It features all the plays with a quote and illustration from each in their rough geographical position.

“He was not of an age, but for all time!” - Ben Jonson

#ShakespeareSunday #ShakespearesBirthday #painting #jigsaw #puzzle #stratforduponavon #WilliamShakespeare #jigsawpuzzles #gift #madeinBritain #jigsawpuzzlelover

I have a new #jigsawpuzzle design, especially for #Shakespeare lovers!

I'm taking pre-orders for #jigsawpuzzles of my handpainted #Map of All the Plays here: https://janetomlinson.com/artworks/shakespeare-jigsaw-puzzle-1000-pieces/

Superb quality - made in UK of carefully sourced eco-materials - no nasty plastic packaging.

Thank you for looking! 🙏

#shakespeareSunday #ShakespeareDaily #Shakespearequotes #DailyShakespeare #stratforduponavon
#jigsaws #puzzles #jigsaw #jigsawpuzzlers #williamshakespeare #stratforduponavon #theatre