fame and failure

Some quick thoughts on writing, art, AI, and what it means to be good at something

I heard a strange story when I was a kid that I’ve never been able to shake. I was about seven years old at the time, dozing in the car on a family camping trip—the parents had put on NPR to lull us to sleep. This story woke me up, however: a human interest report about a reclusive artist who lived in the forest. He had a small house and a connected wor…